Lucas's gaze darted from the trembling forms of Lira and Mirielle to the Divas standing rigid beside the Empress. What unsettled him most wasn't the wind or the dark, but the faint tremor in their composure. These women were Ascendant-ranked cultivators...individuals powerful enough to level entire fortresses...and yet their eyes flickered with unmistakable fear.
The old guide muttered something under his breath, clutching the talisman around his neck. His voice was barely audible, but Lucas caught fragments of it...a prayer to the mountain spirits, a plea to ward off death.
Lucas swallowed hard, his instincts sharpening. Whatever was coming was far beyond anything they were prepared for. Even the snow seemed to have gone still, as if the mountain itself were holding its breath.
Selene stepped closer to him, her voice shaking. "Why… why does it feel like that? Like something's pressing down on my chest?"
