The wind at the edge of the world carried salt and silence.
The cliffs of the Cenotaph Wild Lands groaned under the weight of centuries. And at their farthest edge, where the shattered land met an endless, blue immensity, two figures stood.
One robed in flowing crimson-gold, framed in starlight, and wrapped in faint wisps of Gamma energy. The other, tail flicking as he stretched his arms wide to the open sea.
"Ah... there it is!" the Monkey King, Sun, breathed in with a wild breath. "The end of the land. The beginning of the sea."
The Cerulean Dead Sea.
It lay beyond them like a realm out of legend- endless, shimmering with unnatural stillness beneath the late-day sun.
The horizon was a lie here. There was no true end, only the subtle bend of the world, the curve where light failed and silence ruled.
