Round 67

Silra's teal eyes narrowed as she surveyed the desolate road ahead, her silver-blonde hair whipping subtly in the wind. Gravehill loomed before her, a monument to forgotten sins, its crumbling stone and weathered mortar a testament to the transience of life. The air was heavy with the scent of decay and ash, and Silra's fingers trailed along the bricks with a practiced caution, searching for any signs of hidden danger.

As she circled the perimeter, her gaze darted between the cracked mortar and the weathered bricks, her mind racing with possibilities. The ground still pulsed with leftover ritual energy, a reminder that something had been stirred here recently. Silra's fingers paused on a particularly loose brick, and she straightened, her eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Her expression remained impassive, but a flicker of tension danced in her teal eyes, betraying her growing unease.