The land grew darker with every mile. Trees stood twisted and gnarled, their branches curling like claws against the sky. Even the air seemed heavy, carrying a faint, acrid stench—like smoke that had seeped into the very soil.
By the third day, Cael’s company had entered what the villagers called the Blighted Lands. No birds sang, no rivers ran clear. The ground was blackened, as though fire had scorched it long ago, yet no new life had returned.
The men rode in silence, each one clutching his weapon, as though expecting the shadows themselves to lunge forth.
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The Silent Tower
Near dusk, a shape rose upon the horizon—a tower of black stone, jagged and narrow, standing alone in the wastes. It was half-collapsed, its upper portion shattered, but even in ruin it loomed like a sentinel
