The mountain stronghold's archives were a maze of corridors and chambers, each one filled with ancient relics, forgotten tomes, and the lingering echoes of power from centuries past. The walls were lined with shelves that stretched up to the ceiling, packed with scrolls and books bound in leather, their pages yellowed with age. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and a faint, lingering magic that hummed beneath the surface, like a low current waiting to be tapped.
Elara led the way, her footsteps barely making a sound on the stone floor. Morgana walked beside her, the two of them casting wary glances at the shadows that flickered at the edges of their torchlight. Seraphina and Lyra brought up the rear, their weapons at the ready, senses on high alert for any signs of danger.