The truck rattled over uneven ground, headlights sweeping through branches thick with moss and age. The road had disappeared an hour ago. Now there was only forest—dense and wild, pulling tighter the deeper they went.
They had crossed into the Seraphim Verge.
Even Brent slowed the truck without needing to be told. The forest ahead didn’t just feel old—it felt alive. The trees bent in unnatural angles. The air shimmered faintly, like a heat mirage even in the cold. And through it all, faint flickers of blue light danced along the ground—traces of ley-lines, long dormant but never truly dead.
Thalen, who had joined them at the forest’s edge, rode quietly in the passenger seat. His cloak smelled of ash and pine, and his eyes were distant, watching the woods as if they might speak.
“The Wa
