The path ahead was narrow and winding, hemmed in by towering trees whose branches seemed to weave together, blocking out the sky. The air was thick with the scent of moss and damp earth, and every step echoed with the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. The deeper they ventured into the Whispering Grove, the more oppressive the atmosphere became, as if the forest itself was alive, watching their every move.
Elara led the way, her sword at the ready. Kirin followed close behind, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, while Morgana trailed a few paces back, her staff glowing faintly with a protective light. Lyra brought up the rear, her bow drawn and an arrow nocked, ready to fire at the slightest hint of danger.
"The Grove of Echoes," Morgana murmured, her voice barely audible above the rustling of the trees. "I've heard stories about this place. They say it's where the spirits of the forest come to rest, their voices carried on the wind."