As Lyerin trekked through the dense and shadow-laden forest, the weight of the mana stones he carried pressed against his back, but his gait was steady and unrushed.
The air around him was thick with the remnants of his earlier battles—the faint metallic tang of blood, the charred scent of scorched foliage, and the eerie quiet that always followed a predator's reign.
His eyes glinted with a mix of exhilaration and weariness, his mind replaying the countless moments of combat he had just endured.
The world around him seemed still, almost unnaturally so.
The usual rustling of leaves, chirps of small creatures, or distant roars of wandering beasts were absent.
It was the kind of quiet that pressed on the ears, making one hyper-aware of every sound, every movement.
Yet Lyerin, unfazed by such stillness, hummed a soft tune to himself, a dark melody that seemed to mirror his own chaotic energy.