The ashen water of the river was not cold, but null. It leached warmth, sound, and scent, leaving them feeling hollowed out as they emerged, dripping grey silt, onto the bank of the Vale of Umbra. The air here was still and heavy, tasting of ozone and old grief. The sky was a perpetual twilight, bruised purple and grey, with no visible sun or moon.
Before them, the Vale unfolded a breathtaking, heartbreaking landscape of unnatural beauty. Black-barked trees with silver leaves wept a continuous, shimmering sap that burned tiny, phosphorescent holes in the moss below. Flowers the color of midnight bloomed in patches, their petals absorbing the faint light. In the distance, the silhouette of a slender, crystalline spire pierced the low sky: the Heartstone, the source of the ward, and the hei
