The night was long for the people on Edrisyl as the battles had already ravaged some portions of the once beautiful, lush green island.
Zale moved towards Yggdrasil after he was done with Jabran.
Further ahead, Ermid had also reached a stalemate in his battle against the Dark Mage.
The forest around them no longer resembled the peaceful woodland it had once been. Towering trees lay split apart, the earth had been carved open by repeated clashes and the thick black mist lingering between the trunks obscured both sight and sound. Every now and then, only the sharp clang of steel striking steel echoed through the darkness before silence reclaimed the battlefield once more.
Ermid stood with both curved daggers drawn, his breathing measured despite the beads of sweat trickling down his temple. A shallow cut stretched across his cheek while another stained the sleeve of his robe crimson, but none of the wounds had slowed him.
