The agreed-upon hour of rest passed quickly, swallowed by the ever-present, grieving roar of the crags. When they moved, it was with a purpose that cut through the oppressive atmosphere.
They advanced into the heart of the wind's domain. The rocky shelf gave way to a narrow, twisting canyon, the walls sheer and polished smooth by centuries of abrasive gusts. Here, the wind wasn't just a force; it was a sentry. It coiled around them, probing, testing. Seraphina walked at the front, her hand on her sword, her newly awakened Oath a subtle pressure in the air around her.
"The wind... it's getting more focused," Seraphina called back, her voice straining against the gale. "It's observing."
They pressed on. The canyon opened into a vast, circular amphitheater of stone, scoured clean of any loose debris. In the center, the air shimmered and writhed like a living thing. This was the heart of the storm.
