Marked From Birth
The air here was dead—no oxygen, only the stinging scent of sulfur and ancient, rotting memories.
"This is as far as the horses go," Lucas commanded, his voice amplified by the silver resonance in his throat.
He dismounted, his silver hand glowing with a steady, white light that acted as a beacon in the unnatural gloom. Audrey stood beside him, her cloak swirling in a wind that didn't exist. She reached out her hands, and the "Shadow-Shroud" billowed forth—a translucent dome of velvet darkness that neutralized the stinging miasma of the Void.
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