Preparing the Hunt: The Path to the Temple of Howls
The days that followed Mira's return were thick with urgency, but also shadowed by uncertainty. The vault chamber—once a place of quiet confinement—became a war room, a crucible of whispered strategies and unrelenting plans. Alaric and Mira, bound by the weight of their knowledge, moved with grim purpose, but the truth they uncovered haunted every step.
Their first task was to gather allies—not just warriors, but scholars, dreamwalkers, and those who remembered the old lore whispered in half-forgotten tongues. The Temple of Howls was a name spoken rarely, shrouded in myth and dread, a place said to lie deep within the Blackwood, a forest so ancient its trees seemed to breathe with forgotten magic.
Alaric convened the council, the room heavy with tension. "This woman—the architect of our enemy—is not just a sorceress. She wields the very essence of pain and sorrow, twisting it to her will. We cannot face her with brute strength alone."
Mira nodded, her eyes sharp despite exhaustion. "We'll need to combine our strengths—warriors and mages, scouts and seers. The forest itself will resist us, but the Temple's magic is old. It can be undone."
They spent hours poring over brittle scrolls and fading maps, piecing together the last known routes into the Blackwood. Scouts were dispatched to test the forest's edge, returning with tales of unnatural silence and shadows that moved with purpose.
Training intensified. Mira focused on sharpening her dreamwalking, knowing that the deeper layers of the Temple's magic would demand more than physical might. Alaric drilled the pack in new formations, teaching them to fight not just as individuals but as a unified force capable of adapting to unseen threats.
Yet beneath all preparation lay an unspoken fear: the woman from the Temple of Howls was a ghost of the past who had survived wars and centuries, a power that could shatter their fragile alliance.
One evening, as twilight bled into night, Mira and Alaric stood overlooking the Ridgefall valley from the highest battlement. The moon hung low, silver and cold.
"We're walking into a storm," Mira said softly.
Alaric's gaze was steady. "But we're no longer running from it. This time, we make the storm break on our terms."
Their breaths mingled in the cold air, a silent promise forged in the gathering darkness.
The hunt for the root of the nightmare was about to begin—and nothing would be the same again.