The northern wastelands stretched endlessly beneath a gray, dying sky. Cold winds howled across cracked plains and buried bones. The land looked as if it had been scorched by a god’s wrath and left to rot in silence.
Kael led his riders through the barren terrain. Their horses moved slowly, hooves crunching against the uneven ground that glittered faintly with frost. The sun was a pale disc, struggling behind clouds, offering no warmth.
No one spoke. Even the wind felt hostile here.
Lira rode beside him, her silver hair whipping against her hood. “This place,” she muttered, her voice tight, “it feels… wrong. Like the world itself is holding its breath.”
Kael didn’t reply. His crimson eyes scanned the horizon—flat, lifeless, endless. Yet deep within, his instincts screamed. Something wa
