The temple's ancient voice faded, but its weight hung heavy in the air.
Luka's fingers tightened around Snow's small frame as the baby dragon nestled against his side, still glowing faintly despite the exhaustion in his eyes.
The glow wasn't just light — it was history, power, and hope all at once.
Serene knelt beside one of the cracked silverstone pillars, brushing her fingers over the intricate carvings etched deep into the roots.
"The anchors… the obelisks," she murmured, her voice thick with awe and worry.
"They weren't always instruments of war or corruption. They were meant to hold the balance of this land's magic. But someone turned them into weapons."
Gregor's heavy breathing filled the silence as he hefted his axe onto his shoulder.
"If those corrupted beasts were drawn here, this place is a beacon. Whatever 'he' is — whoever wants Snow — he won't stop coming. We need to move fast."
