The snow-covered expanse of the northern frontier stretched before Draven and his companions as they made their way through the aftermath of the ambush. The soldiers were quiet, their breaths visible in the cold air, still shaken from their narrow escape from the avalanche. The roar of crashing snow still echoed in Draven's mind, but his thoughts were already on what lay ahead. They had survived the Southern Web's attack, but it was clear their enemies were becoming more aggressive—and more dangerous.
Draven led the group through the snow, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The mountain pass behind them was now buried under tons of snow, an impassable barrier that would delay any pursuit, but the masked warriors were still out there. Somewhere in the vast wilderness, they were tracking the stone, biding their time until they could strike again.