The ruins of the old watchtower loomed ahead, its crumbling walls barely visible in the faint moonlight. Resna stopped at the base of the hill, her eyes scanning the structure. “This doesn’t feel right,” she said. “Why would the magic lead us here?”

“Maybe it’s a remnant of something older,” I said, the shard pulsing faintly as I spoke. “Something forgotten.”

“Or something dangerous,” Aric muttered, his sword already drawn. “Stay close.”

We climbed the hill slowly, the shard’s hum growing sharper with each step. The air felt heavier here, thick with the lingering traces of magic. I could feel it in my chest, an oppressive weight that pressed down on me with every breath.

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The entrance to the tower was dark, the wooden doors long since rotted away. Resna moved ahead, her bow drawn, while Aric stayed close behind me. The shard’s energy prickled along my skin as we stepped inside, its hum becoming a steady vibration.

“Do you feel that?” I asked, my voice echoing softly in the empty space.

“Yes,” Resna replied, her tone tense. “It’s everywhere.”

The shard pulsed sharply, and I stopped, turning my head toward the faint vibrations in the air. “We’re not alone.”

A voice echoed from the shadows, low and resonant. “You have come far, child of Veylora.”

Resna froze, her bowstring taut. “Who’s there?”

The figure stepped into the faint light of the moon, their presence commanding. They were cloaked in shadow, but their voice carried an undeniable weight. “I am the Warden of these lands, and you tread on cursed ground.”