Whispers in the Dark

The embers of their campfire smoldered in the morning light, sending thin wisps of smoke curling into the sky. 

Argolaith stretched, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his gear. 

His wounds had mostly healed thanks to the elixirs and their well-prepared meal, but a dull ache still lingered in his muscles, a reminder of their fight against the lich.

Kaelred groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. "I don't think I'll ever get used to waking up in this cursed forest."

Argolaith smirked, fastening his sword belt. "Better get used to it. We still have a long way to go."

Kaelred yawned and stood, brushing dirt from his cloak. "Yeah, yeah. Let's just hope today doesn't involve any more undead sorcerers."

Despite the jest, there was a tension in the air—unspoken, but present. The lich was still out there, watching. Neither of them said it aloud, but they both knew it.