The fortress lay silent in the aftermath of the battle, its ancient walls now a testament to the ferocity of the fight that had taken place. Draven stood alone atop the battlements, staring out into the snowstorm that had shrouded the battlefield in a thick, swirling mist. The Southern Web had retreated, their forces broken and scattered, but the victory felt hollow. Despite their triumph, the ominous presence of the stone weighed heavily on his mind.
His breath frosted in the cold air as he tightened his grip on the Lightforged Blade, its faint blue glow dim in the early morning light. The sword had been a crucial weapon in their battle against the Southern Web, but even its power felt insignificant compared to the dark energy radiating from the stone. It pulsed in the distance, a constant reminder that their true enemy was not yet defeated.