The path through the glass forest twists and turns, a narrow, winding trail that seems to change direction every few steps. The trees lean in closer, their glass branches creating a canopy of shimmering, multicolored light above us. The mist swirls thicker around our feet, and the soft, chiming sound of the glass seems to grow louder, more insistent.
I can't shake the feeling that we're being led, that the path is deliberately guiding us in a specific direction. The compass in Lucas's hand is still pointing forward, its steady glow a beacon in the eerie, beautiful gloom.
We walk in silence, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of glass flowers. The air is cold and damp, and I can feel a strange energy here, a thrumming, pulsing power that seems to vibrate through the very ground beneath our feet.
