And having fun doing it!
The sky over Oakhaven didn't just darken; it bruised, turning a deep, sickly shade of violet that smelled faintly of ozone and old parchment. Elara gripped the hilt of her rusted gladius, watching as the ancient runes carved into the city's gates began to weep a glowing, golden sap—the first time the seal had cracked in three centuries. High above in the Watcher’s Spire, the Great Bell tolled a single, dissonant note that vibrated in the marrow of her bones, signaling not an arrival, but an awakening. As the ground beneath the cobblestones began to hum with a rhythmic, subterranean heartbeat, Elara realized the legends were wrong: the mountain wasn't a tomb, it was a shell.