The Ritual Begins
The dense forest was eerily quiet as Seraphine led the group to the ritual site. Her steps were confident, her silver eyes fixed ahead, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed the weight of what was to come. Lyra and Eryon followed closely behind, their nerves taut as the artifact hummed faintly in Lyra’s hands. Misery trailed at the edge of the group, her blade glinting faintly as she kept watch for any sign of movement.
When they reached the clearing, Lyra’s breath caught. The site was ancient, its stone altar carved with intricate runes that pulsed faintly in the darkness. Towering trees surrounded them, their gnarled branches forming an oppressive canopy that seemed to trap the air itself.
Seraphine stepped forward, her voice steady but laced with urgency. “This is it. The blood moon will amplify the artifact’s power, but we need to be precise. Stay focused. No matter what happens, we cannot stop.”
Lyra glanced at the artifact in her hands, its jagged edges cool against her skin. The whispers had grown louder as they neared the altar, their cryptic messages pressing against her thoughts like a storm. “What if it’s too much?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Seraphine turned to her, her gaze softening slightly. “You’re stronger than you realize,” she said. “You have to be.”
Eryon placed a reassuring hand on Lyra’s shoulder. “We’ll handle this together,” he said, though the tightness in his voice betrayed his own doubts.
Misery smirked faintly from the shadows. “Touching,” she said. “But we’re not exactly alone out here, are we?”
Seraphine’s expression hardened. “Keep watch. We don’t have much time.”
Lyra stepped up to the altar, her hands shaking as she placed the artifact at its center. The jagged crystal seemed to come alive, its glow intensifying as it connected with the runes. The air around them grew heavy, charged with energy that made Lyra’s wolf stir restlessly beneath her skin.
Seraphine began to chant, her voice weaving through the air like a melody. The runes flared to life, their light casting eerie shadows across the clearing. The artifact pulsed in time with the rhythm of her words, its hum growing louder and more insistent.
Lyra clenched her fists, her silver eyes blazing as she fought to stay focused. Eryon stood at her side, his amber eyes scanning the tree line for any sign of danger. Misery lingered nearby, her blade drawn, her sharp gaze fixed on the shadows.
A sound broke through the stillness—the faint echo of footsteps crunching on fallen leaves. Seraphine’s head snapped up, her chant faltering as her silver eyes narrowed.
“They’re here,” she said, her voice low and urgent.
Eryon’s wolf bristled as the sound grew louder, the unmistakable clank of armor cutting through the night. Lyra tightened her grip on the altar, her breath quickening as fear crept into her chest.
Misery rolled her shoulders, her smirk turning sharp. “Looks like we’ve got company.”
