The forest was eerily quiet as one of the men who had fled Overa stumbled through the thick trees, panting and limping from the fight with Ivy and Meme. Blood smeared his face, and his heart pounded as he made his way to King Sola’s encampment. Upon arriving, he was dragged before the king’s towering throne, where the air crackled with tension.
“Sire,” the man gasped, dropping to his knees. “I found them… the holy gatherers, they’re real!”
King Sola’s cold, dark eyes flickered with contempt. “You come before me with such news, as if I didn’t already know?” He rose from his throne, his voice low and dangerous. “Why are you wasting my time with what is already known?” He gestured to his commander. “Remove this fool.”