Round 20

As they stood on the ash-choked road, the stormy sky above seemed to mirror the turmoil within them. Silra's gaze was fixed on the ruined city of Gravehill, its skeletal architecture a grim reminder of their perilous journey. The rain lashed down, making every step treacherous, and the wind howled with an otherworldly intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Sister Hale moved cautiously, her eyes scanning the ground for any signs of instability. She was acutely aware of the figure's presence, its glowing eyes pulsing brighter as she took a step back. The cleric's hand instinctively went to the silver holy symbol at her neck, a comforting weight in these uncertain times. Her voice was steady, but laced with concern as she addressed Silra. "We need to be careful," she repeated, her words echoing through the tense silence. "This place is full of traps and... other things." The air seemed to vibrate with unspoken warnings, and both women knew that their next move would determine whether they survived this night.