The remnants of twilight scarcely touched the forest floor as the canopy of Sun shadow Forest swallowed the fading light whole. Among the gnarled roots and whispering pines, a hidden cave yawned beneath a thicket of brambles and ivy—its entrance veiled like a wound too old to bleed. Inside, shadows danced across damp stone, lit only by the flickering glow of a single enchanted flame hovering midair, pulsing with Esme's unrest.
She crouched near the far wall, breath shallow, fingers stained with ash and old blood. With a jagged shard of bone, she carved sigils and fragmented thoughts into the rock, her script frantic, uneven—a war map born of heartache. The stone bore her pain, line by line: plans of counterspells, names crossed out, sketches of Lenora's sigil magic tangled beside her own.
