The Forgotten Mills were just as Adam had imagined them—spacious, misty, and grand.
From his hill, Adam couldn't see the mysterious four peaks and the white light hovering among them. He knew they were somewhere nearby, but he wasn't sure if he should go there at all.
But one thing was clear—this was the Forgotten Mills. Adam could tell by the gray clouds cut into lines, like great threads dozens of times larger than himself, streaking across the ancient sky.
The gray mill was the first one on his path, but Adam didn't dare approach it. Outwardly, it did not look dangerous and did not emit a menacing aura or anything like that. However, Adam remembered Targon's words and took them as seriously as possible.
"Hah, that's pretty funny..." Adam smiled bitterly as he slowly climbed the hill.
Silvana touched her lower lip, puzzled. "Hmm? What do you mean?"
