The forest was alive with whispers. The towering trees swayed gently under the silver light of twin moons, their branches entwined like ancient lovers. A faint mist wove through the undergrowth, carrying the scent of night jasmine and something far older—magic, raw and untamed.Lyria stood at the edge of the glade, her heart pounding. She wore a cloak of deep crimson, the hood pulled low to conceal her golden hair, which glimmered like sunlight even in the dark. Her emerald eyes scanned the clearing, searching for the one she had been told would come.The air shifted, heavy with a presence