A rustle of wind stirred the blighted leaves as they stepped into the next clearing.
Here, the air was thicker—cloying, as if it clung to the back of their throats. The grass was gone, replaced with cracked earth and black veins of rot that pulsed dimly beneath the surface.
At the center stood the remnants of the obelisk they had destroyed, now partially reassembled.
Shards of bone and obsidian hovered in place, bound by faint red light, forming the skeletal beginnings of a new structure.
"Someone's been here recently," Luka muttered, crouching to study the tracks. Footprints—humanoid, light, deliberate.
A ritualist, maybe. Or worse.
Serene stood at his side, scanning the surroundings with sharp eyes. "We're not alone."
"I can see that," Arthur said flatly, standing in the middle of the clearing with no cover whatsoever.
He raised his sword like he was in the middle of a coliseum and called out, "Whoever's out there, come face me already! No point hiding, cowards!"
