In the cave hidden deep within the mountain ridge, the air thickened with the scent of burning herbs and old blood. The fire beneath the large black cauldron crackled with restless fury, casting flickering shadows on the rough stone walls. Cedric stood in front of it, a deep gash on his palm dripping blood into the bubbling brew, his eyes focused, voice steady.
"By the blood of the forgotten," he chanted, "by the silence of the deep, I call thee."
Beside him, Sephrina watched with thinly concealed awe and concern. She had seen many rituals—dark ones, forbidden ones—but this one felt different. The magic he used was old, the kind whispered about in ancient texts and feared even in villainous circles.
"You're using something deeper than we agreed," she said cautiously, backing a step away from the glowing sigils etched into the stone beneath their feet. "You said we wouldn't go this far."
