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— 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖾... 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗎𝗌. 𝖫𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽
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The sky, once clear and brimming with stars, was smeared with dark, ominous clouds that swirl menacingly, heavy with the promise of more storms to come. Lightning flickers in the distance, brief and jagged, illuminating the scene below with harsh, white light. The village, which was once a lively place filled with the warmth of druidic magic and the hum of community life, now lies in ruin. Charred remnants of huts stand like broken teeth amidst the devastation, their walls blackened and crumbling. Ancient stone circles, once revered, are scattered and defiled, their power extinguished.
Smoke rises in thin, twisting tendrils, mingling with the night air, carrying with it the acrid scent of destruction. Aira Faelan stumbled through this scene of devastation, her breath coming in ragged, painful gasps. Her once-strong frame shook with exhaustion, and her usually bright eyes were dulled by a mixture of pain and unyielding determination. Her pale fingers trembled as she clutched a small, intricately carved pendant shaped like a Celtic knot, its silver surface catching what little light there is, glinting faintly in the darkness.
The woman looked down to her child, scared about what was going to happen to her future, sad that she won't be there to guide her, as well as her husband, Alden Faelan, who has died a couple minutes ago.
