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They weren't alone for long. Out of the shadows stepped Willow Ufgood. He looked older than the legends said—tired, his robes frayed at the edges. In his hand, he gripped a carved wooden wand, its tip pulsing with a faint, uncertain amber glow.

Willow stepped forward, planting his feet. He began an incantation in a tongue that sounded like grinding stones. A barrier of shimmering light flickered into existence, catching a bolt of necrotic energy launched by the Lich. The air hissed. The smell of ozone filled the clearing. They weren't alone for long

Beside her, Silas, the loyal squire, gripped his sword. He wasn't a hero of legend, just a man who believed in a promise. "Then we move faster," he countered, though the sweat on his brow told a different story. In his hand, he gripped a carved wooden

A blinding white light erupted from her palms. It wasn't a bolt of fire, but a wave of pure, stubborn life. Where it touched the Lich’s shadow, the darkness dissolved like ink in water. The Lich let out a hollow, metallic shriek before vanishing back into the depths of the forest. A barrier of shimmering light flickered into existence,

The mist over the Wildwood didn’t just sit; it breathed. It clung to the boots of the ragtag fellowship like a physical weight, smelling of damp earth and something older—something rotting.

The road to the was still long, and the Crones were still watching, but for the first time, the girl who was a kitchen maid felt like a queen.

Willow smiled, a rare spark of hope in his eyes. "That is exactly how it starts."