The ritual had begun, and midnight's peak cast the village in an ethereal glow. The moon hung high above, illuminating the clearing, where witches hummed in haunting harmony, their voices swelling with the rhythmic chants.
Alicarde stood on edge, his eyes narrowing as he watched the unsettling beauty unfold before him. The melody itself felt like a spell, a song that lulled the night into a trance while filling him with dread.
Beneath their feet, magic circles glowed with runes traced in silver, feeding off the moon's energy. Tendrils of light wove from the circles up into the sky, forming an intricate lattice of raw, ancient power, encasing the village and stretching far into the forest beyond.
The energy swirling in the air was palpable; Alicarde could feel it pressing against his skin, electric and thick with intent.