--A chill wind whispered through the darkened skies as the heirs pressed onward into lands uncharted by mortal hope. The early morning light was a mere promise—a faint glow behind dense, rolling clouds that shrouded the horizon with an eerie, foreboding pall. Every step they took on the rugged path, now lined with jagged boulders and half-forgotten relics of an age lost to time, seemed to echo a silent question: Would the light within them be enough to pierce the gathering gloom?
Liam rode at the forefront, the Emberheart's gentle pulse guiding his every decision. Its steady glow was a constant reminder of both his duty and the fragile hope it symbolized. He could feel that the relic's power was shifting, as if resonating with the energies of the land. "There is something stirring beyond the mists," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the mournful sigh of the wind. "A presence older than our memories, waiting in the twilight between dreams and despair."
