The forest felt alive.
Not in the usual way—whispering trees or rustling leaves. It was as if the very space between the trunks was alert, watching, breathing. Every step taken by Strax, Ouroboros, and Tiamat sank deeper into the membrane of a world that no longer fully belonged to the realm of the living.
Strax walked ahead, eyes sharp and his sword still dormant on his back. The mana around him remained restless, as if the blade sensed they were nearing something familiar. Something ancient.
Tiamat followed closely behind, her slender form and regal posture contrasting with the calculated serenity of Ouroboros, who walked with her hands clasped behind her back, observing every leaf, every root, every sound.
"Do you feel that?" Ouroboros asked after a long silence. Her voice was low, almost a reverent whisper. "This place doesn't want us here."
