The Dark Elf village clung to the edge of the mountain like a spider's nest—built into terraces of obsidian and veined stone, shielded by illusion magic and thick web-like canopies. Erina had never seen a place like it.
No churches.
No banners.
Just silence and eyes that never blinked.
They were taken in without a word, some of the other dark elves watching but then losing interest upon seeing that Leonhardt wasn't among them.
Nyxara led them, wordlessly, through tight winding stairs, past buildings with no windows, only slits for archers.
The air here felt thinner, purer than usual and imbued with mana.
When they finally stopped, Nyxara turned. The moonlight caught her face, highlighting every edge. Emerald eyes shimmered like glass under pressure.
"You did better than expected," she said dryly. "I thought you might lose a limb."
