As Zixuan stepped into the deeper grove, the light dimmed unnaturally fast—like dusk folding over the world before its time, as if the sun itself turned away from what this place held.
Each footfall was muffled by damp earth and the soft crunch of brittle leaves, their decay releasing a faint, sour musk. But the silence that met her wasn't peaceful. It pressed against her ears like a held breath.
The air hung thick, heavy with moisture and something unspoken. Even the trees leaned inward, warped and skeletal, their twisted limbs knitted above like the bars of a cage—designed not to shield, but to contain.
But Zixuan didn't care.
She barely registered the wrongness of the grove. Her steps grew uneven, weight dragging with every motion until her knees gave way beneath her.
She dropped, the cold earth seeping through her clothes, but she didn't flinch. Her hands trembled as they sank into the moss and leaves. Her breath hitched, her shoulders shaking.
