Dark clouds gathered over the Scarlet Ridge Fortress, where stone walls forged from Spirit-Tempered Ore rose high above the cursed plains. The air crackled with tension. Archers lined the battlements. Elemental runes pulsed like beating hearts along the ramparts. And beyond them, in the shadowed wilds, something ancient stirred.
Inside a cold prison cell near the inner keep, Travis Momoa sat cross-legged in meditation. His wrists bore Soul-Sealing chains, suppressing the flow of his spiritual energy. Beside him paced Mugo, his longtime companion—grizzled, sarcastic, and similarly restrained.
Mugo grunted, "I swear, if we survive this, I'm never trusting those mission list again."
Travis opened his eyes, their silver glow briefly piercing the dim cell. "It wasn't the mission. It was our curiosity."
"And your stubborn desire to 'understand this saint's dwelling secrets.' You had to poke the damn dragon."
