Elara and Alaric, the last survivors of their noble line, moved like ghosts through the ancient, mist-enshrouded Whispering Forest. The trees were gnarled, their roots like clutching fingers, and the path, barely a shadow, was swallowed by a perpetual twilight. The air was thick and cold, carrying only the scent of damp earth and decay. Their sole guide was a battered, heirloom brass lantern, its small flame the only spot of warmth in the oppressive gloom.
The Last Light in Whispering Woods
