A portal of swirling black fog ripped open in front of the ruins of the Temple of Vedangiri, distorting the air with a deep hum. From within, a lone figure emerged—Aamir.
He stepped out, boots landing on the cracked stone, his cloak brushing against the ancient ground. His crimson eyes scanned the horizon.
"Finally… I'm here," he muttered, his voice echoing faintly against the silence of the dead land.
Before him stood what was once a grand temple—a monument of faith and power—now reduced to a field of shattered pillars, collapsed arches, and moss-choked stones. The wind whispered through the ruins like the voices of ghosts that had never left.
"This… should be the oldest part of Vedangiri," Aamir said, rubbing the back of his neck. "If I remember right… this place is older than any map. If there's anything about Zorwath, it has to be here."
