In the heart of the Tyrant's Forest, just beyond the city of Shantel, the air was thick with the scent of moss and damp soil. Shadows shifted between the trees as James crouched low behind a cluster of roots, his eyes fixed on a lone horned rabbit grazing in the underbrush.
The creature was small, yet its aura shimmered faintly, a Rank 4 beast. Dangerous, fast, and cunning. It wasn't the kind of prey one took lightly.
Behind James, a dozen men and women waited in silence, weapons drawn, every breath measured. They were survivors of Shantel, citizens who had once cowered under fear, now transformed into fighters under the teachings Leon had left behind.
Leon… The name alone carried weight, a kind of quiet reverence that bound them all.
