The forest seemed to close behind them, shadows thickening like ink as Luka and Serene raced through the rotted underbrush.
Snow darted ahead, his wings beating furiously against the chill night air, scouting the way and screeching warnings.
"Arthur's not exactly an ally," Serene hissed, glancing back at the smug figure striding easily behind them. "We need to be ready for whatever he has planned."
Luka didn't reply. His mind was focused on the keystone—and the nightmare that awaited if they failed to stop it.
Ahead, the faint glow of the city lanterns beckoned like beacons of hope. But between here and there lay the old well—a forgotten relic wrapped in cobwebs and superstition.
They burst through the last treeline and slowed, catching their breath on the edge of a narrow alley behind the Guild hall.
Luka's fingers brushed the map scribbled on a scrap of parchment in his pocket, guiding him to the well's exact location.
