The sulfur-smelling wind swept through the scorched earth. Seventeen-year-old Elena clutched the bronze compass left behind by her grandfather and walked through the collapsed stone corridors. In the distance, dark purple thunderclouds are swallowing up the last piece of blue sky. Of the seven giant magic towers suspended in the clouds, only three are still emitting faint light. "Be careful!" Hawke, the old ranger, dragged her behind the broken wall. Three venom-quenched bone arrows flew past his ears and penetrated into the mottled rune stone pillar behind him, causing a burst of green smoke to rise. Elena lowered her head to check the compass. The pointer was spinning crazily, pointing to the southeast—where there was once the emerald forest of the elves, but now there are only tree stumps emitting black smoke. "The people from the Shadow Order are chasing me." Hawk's rough palms were pressed on the rusty battle ax on his waist, while his cloudy eyes were staring at the silver pendant around Elena's neck, which was an ancient silver coin engraved with a six-pointed star. "Take the holy relic and go quickly to find the astrologer in the White Tower."
