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The Price of the Sacred Grove

The air was thick with the weight of magic, an oppressive hum vibrating through the trees, ancient and alive. Every step the group took into the grove felt like an unspoken vow—each movement forward a deeper plunge into the unknown. The ground beneath them pulsed faintly, as if the very earth was breathing, watching, waiting.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Talon muttered, his voice a whisper swallowed by the groaning trees. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, every flicker of light a potential threat, every rustle a sign of something lurking. His resolve, once so solid, had begun to crack. “This place… it wants us to fail.”

Lena’s voice was gentle, but firm. "No one ever said this would be easy. We’ve come too far to turn back now." Her words, calm yet resolute, echoed through the oppressive silence, like a fragile thread holding them together.

Jakob, always the skeptic, smirked bitterly. “Too far? Too far

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