The air was different today. Arawn could feel it the moment he stepped onto the battlefield. The oppressive weight of the malevolent spirit’s aura bore down on the land, making the very ground beneath his feet feel lifeless. The sky above was an unnatural shade of grey, as though the heavens themselves were recoiling from what was about to unfold.
The soldiers around him were silent. Even the usual nervous chatter that filled the moments before battle had died away. Everyone could feel it—that something sinister was coming. It wasn’t just the fear of death; it was the certainty of it.
Arawn’s hands trembled as he adjusted his grip on his sword. His mana flared and faltered unpredictably, a constant reminder of his lack of control. His wind magic felt weaker today, as though the oppressive aura of the battlefield was sapping its strength.