The forest ended where the world forgot itself.
They crossed the Vale at dawn, and by noon, the land had begun to die. The sky dulled from blue to iron-gray, the sun’s warmth fading behind clouds that never moved. The air tasted ash and silence. Even the wind seemed to hesitate before blowing through this place.
Eryndor led them down a broken trail, the faint pulse of the crystal key in his pocket guiding their steps. It glowed only faintly now, its rhythm matching his heartbeat.
“Where are we exactly?” Thorne asked, glancing at the dead trees around them. “Feels like we’ve stepped into a tomb.”
Lirien’s tone was grave. “You’re not far off. These are the Shadowlands — the scars left when the Voice first fractured. Few who wander here return unchanged.”
Zephyr ran his hand through the
