Sylvara rose to her feet without speaking, her movements graceful, her vines shifting like water parting for her steps.
With a flick of her hand, the curtain of foliage peeled open, revealing the world beyond the garden's sanctuary.
Azareel stood slowly, his heart sinking as he stepped to the edge and looked out.
Barren land stretched beyond, ash-coated stone and cracked bone-white ruins sprawling like the skeletal remains of a forgotten god.
Charred remnants of towers slumped against the horizon, shattered arches leaning like broken promises, broken statues with eyeless faces frozen in silent screams.
There was no movement, no wind, no birds, no screams—only stillness, heavy and desolate, the air thick with the scent of burnt bone and faded malice.
The cursed city was gone. Completely. Nothing remained but dust and dead stone, a graveyard of what had been.
He turned to the others, his silver eyes wide with quiet horror.
