Shadows of the Forgotten

The first light of dawn struggled to pierce the heavy gray clouds hanging over Crestwood. The town seemed subdued, as if the very air was weighed down by the dark events of the night before. Sarah stood silently at the edge of the ruined chamber beneath the old library, her fingers still wrapped tightly around the hilt of the obsidian dagger. The battle with the ash creature had left more than just physical scars—it had shaken their spirits and raised more questions than answers.

Beside her, Lila sat on a cold stone bench, her scarred palm resting on her knee. The faint golden glow that had once radiated fiercely from the mark now pulsed weakly, as if exhausted from the fight. Her eyes were distant, lost in thought.

Adrian paced nearby, his face pale and drawn. He kept glancing toward the dark woods that bordered the town, as if expecting something—or someone—to emerge from the shadows.