Chapter 5
The Serpent's Coil
Following a cryptic lead from Sarai, Bishop Dark and Sister Petra venture into the Whisperwood, a region steeped in dark magic and local superstition. The air grows heavy, the trees contort into unsettling shapes, and unseen eyes seem to watch their every move. Petra’s faith is tested by the palpable aura of malevolence, her prayers feeling hollow in the oppressive silence. Bishop, though outwardly stoic, feels a prickle of unease. This is more than just a forest; it’s a place where the veil between worlds is thin, and the coven’s influence runs deep, like a serpent coiled in the shadows.
The air in the Whisperwood wasn't just cold; it was a damp, clammy embrace that clung to Bishop Dark’s skin like a shroud. It smelled of rot and something else, something cloyingly sweet that turned his stomach. Sister Petra, bless her naive little heart, clutched her rosary so tightly her knuckles were white, her breath misting in the gloom. Her usual serene expression was strained, her eyes wide with a fear that Bishop, despite his own gnawing disquiet, couldn't entirely fault. This place was a festering wound on the face of the land, and the coven, whoever they were, had sunk their roots deep into its rot.
“Feels like the woods are holding their breath, doesn’t it?” Bishop muttered, his voice a low growl that barely disturbed the oppressive silence. He ran a hand over the worn leather of his duster, the familiar weight of Soul Sun a cold comfort against his hip.
Petra’s reply was a barely audible whisper. “It feels… watchful, Bishop. As if every tree is an eye, and every shadow a watching soul.”
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