The first light of dawn filtered through the towering canopy of Aerthalis, painting the village in shifting hues of pale gold and bruised violet. It was a light that didn’t just illuminate; it seemed to breathe, pulsing in time with the rhythmic swaying of the colossal trees that served as both foundation and sky. I stirred beneath a soft canopy of moss-draped leaves, my body heavy with a fatigue that went deeper than bone.
My mind remained a frantic echo of the events that had brought me to this sanctuary—the harrowing, breathless escape from the jagged peaks of Mt. Hayp, the predatory, golden-eyed silhouette of the rogue werewolf that had haunted my tracks, and the oily, ever-looming shadow of the dark entity. That entity was a stain on my memory, a void that consumed light and hope wit
