Crossing the Iron Stream felt like stepping through a veil. The moment we crossed the water, the sounds of the modern world with the distant hum of engines, the electronic buzz of the city vanished. They were replaced by the cacophony of the Forbidden Forest: the groaning of thousand-year-old oaks, the chittering of creatures that hadn’t evolved since the Great Frost, and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of the forest itself.
The “Deep Interior” was a world of eternal twilight. The canopy was so thick that not a single ray of starlight reached the floor. Instead, the forest was lit by bioluminescent fungi that glowed in shades of neon blue and sickly green, casting long, distorted shadows across the path.
“Stay on the white moss,” I warned the pack, my voice echoing strangely. “Anything t
