The Witch raised her staff, the air crackling with the scent of ozone and old parchment. "They’ve found us," she whispered, her voice trembling.
We stepped through the gate with our gear clinking—a heavy metallic rhythm that felt far too loud against the unnatural silence of the Arched Expedition. Behind us, the town of Arka lived on borrowed time. Before us, the gray shroud swallowed the light of the sun, replacing it with a dim, sickly luminescence that pulsed like a dying heart.
: Every decision matters, as losing a crew member means losing their progress and skills forever.
"Formation!" the Paladin barked, her shield catching a stray glint of something moving in the haze.
: A constant pressure that advances toward the end of the world if your expeditions are unsuccessful. AI responses may include mistakes. Learn more