While the battle raged on one side of the forest, far from the clash of steel and Magic, the cult was on the move.
The three men who had once waited silently in the treehouse now descended to the forest floor. They moved with purpose knowing the ritual was nearing its critical stage. The time had come for them to go to the temple.
But they were no longer alone.
Now, they walked alongside twenty more cloaked figures. They were cultists drawn from every kingdom and profession. Warriors, scholars, even former priests. Each one had earned their place. Their loyalty to the cause proven through years of work, blood offerings, and sabotage.
Their reward was acknowledgment within the inner circle that sought the resurrection of Thar'Zul-Vekar, the Old God of the Forest.
Together, they walked through the dense woods, where the mist had grown thicker, more unnatural. It no longer clung like simple fog but now it flowed like a river with a current of its own, swirling and shifting.
