The Stirring Beneath
The glass sands lay quiet behind them, but deep within the continent's heart something older than Eternals began to stir. For centuries it had slept beneath stone and jungle, its breath hidden in glyph-light, its pulse masked by storms. The fall of the Eternals had broken the last seals.
In the valley of silent temples, an altar cracked. Beneath it, a vast presence opened its eyes. Not an Eternal. Not a god. Not a man. Something the Eternals themselves had once feared, carved from the first days of the world.
The jungle whispered its name without sound: The Origin.
Fire Moves Inward
Hei Long left the glass shore behind, walking inland without hesitation. The jungle bent away from his steps, its glyph-light flickering as though fearing to be seen. His women followed, their jealousy and devotion sharper after the night on the sands.
Qingxue gripped her blade, eyes scanning the undergrowth. "This land feels wrong. Like a blade with no edge."
