The sun had long since surrendered to twilight when the heirs emerged from the ruins of the Twilight Spire. The memory of the Oracle's solemn words still echoed in their hearts: to mend the world, one must first embrace every fragment of the past. Now, with the taste of ancient memories fresh upon their tongues, the company found themselves at the threshold of an unfamiliar forest—a place where the boundary between day and night was blurred by an ever-shifting veil of shadows.
A narrow, winding path led them into a woodland of towering trees whose trunks were gnarled with age and whose leaves shimmered with an eerie, silver luminescence. The air was cool and heavy with the scent of damp earth and forgotten secrets. Liam rode at the head of the procession, the Emberheart's glow pulsing steadily against his chest as if in rhythm with his own heartbeat.