Inside the dark, silent heart of the witch's domain, the group of fighters moved cautiously, following the seemingly endless stream of silent people. The vast, ghostly procession wove like a living river, flowing through an eerily silent town that had been frozen in some otherworldly moment. The air was thick with an unsettling hush—no footsteps, no whispers, only the faint, rhythmic breathing of the silent followers and the hushed echo of their footsteps on cracked stone streets. Every so often, the silence was broken by a faint sigh or a quiet mumble from the crowd, but they sounded distant and distant as if coming from beneath the surface of some hypnotic trance. The entire scene felt surreal, as if the fabric of reality itself had been stripped away, leaving only the procession moving toward a colossal destination at the town's core.