The moon hung low in the night sky, casting its silvery glow over the dense forest surrounding the hidden camp of the resistance. Azreal Ndlovu stood atop a makeshift watchtower, sharp eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of approaching danger.

As the head of the underground resistance in Aranoth, Azreal had grown accustomed to such moments of solitude. The burden of leadership weighed heavily on his shoulders, but it was a weight he willingly carried. The memories of his homeland, Eldrath, still haunted him, the flames of destruction and the chains of enslavement that had once taken his family from him etched into his mind.