The shadowed groves of Duskfall loomed like ancient guardians, their gnarled trees were twisted into grotesque shapes, their bark were carved with faint psychic runes that pulsed with a dim violet glow, casting eerie and shifting patterns across the mossy ground, each flicker was a haunting whisper of the Veil's insidious reach.
Lyra's boots sank into the damp earth, her steps were deliberate and cautious, her shadow-etched gauntlet tingled faintly, its dark runes were a quiet echo of her sister Elara's lessons in these very groves.
Her deft hands were weaving shadow traps with precision, her laughter was a bright spark before a rogue tamer's beast tore her life away in a brutal flash of claws and shadow.
The weight of her pack pressed heavily against her shoulders, which were laden with a shadow-sealed tome, shadow essence, psychic runes, a rune-carved dagger, a veilstone pendant, and a newly salvaged shadow crystal.
