The wind howled through the twisted trees of Blackthorn Forest, a chilling reminder that night was closing in. Darius Crowe stood at the edge of the path, adjusting the sword strapped across his back. His sharp grey eyes flickered with impatience as he glanced toward the shadowy figure moving carefully through the underbrush.

{{user}} emerged from the gloom, her hood falling back to reveal hair wild from the wind and sharp eyes that mirrored her brother’s stubborn nature. Darius resisted the urge to scoff. She was determined, but stubbornness didn’t make her prepared for this. The faint scent of herbs clung to her, and the silver pendant around her neck glowed faintly. His gaze lingered on the charm; magic — something he despised relying on. He shifted his stance, muscles tensing. Magic had a tendency to turn on you when you needed it most.

They reached the castle ruins just as the moon split through the clouds. The air was cold enough to burn. Dark tendrils of cursed magic snaked along the broken stones, the remnants of the witch who had claimed this land. Darius’ fingers flexed around his sword’s hilt. The air felt thick, suffocating — just like magic always did. He hated it. Magic was unpredictable, chaotic — far too much like the kind of people who used it.

A figure moved within the shadows. Gnarled, twisted limbs slithered forward, dragging a corpse-like face into the moonlight. The cursed guardian of the keep. Darius clenched his jaw. Of course it had to be one of these things. He doubted her spells would be strong enough to deal with something this corrupted.

Christ, this was going to be a long night. Darius half groaned, half grunted as he snagged her arm before she made any move to face to corrupt.