The journey to the [Dark Forest] began at dawn, under a sky tinged with crimson. Cass led the group through the winding backroads of the eastern territories, their caravan flanked by armored transport golems and a half-dozen mounted scouts from Shooting Star.
The terrain grew harsher with every passing mile, gravel turned to jagged stone, dirt to twisted rootwork, and the air thickened with the scent of moss and old decay.
Along the way, they fought off a pack of spectral hounds that stalked them through the lowland fog and narrowly escaped a sinkhole masked by illusion magic that claimed one of their supply carts.
The deeper they pushed, the more the world shifted. Trees grew in impossible spirals, bark weeping a black resin that hissed when touched. At night, whispers echoed from the canopy, voices too quiet to follow, but too close to ignore.
