The silver path beneath Sol's feet finally broadened into a wide, obsidian-paved causeway that stretched toward the horizon. Here, the singing moss grew silent, replaced by the sound of a civilization breathing, of runes burning through the night, of peoples that had carved its existence into the very forest.
"Welcome," Kira said, gesturing toward the horizon. Her voice was still thick with the residue of her grief, but her back was straight, her warrior's pride reasserting itself as she looked upon her home. "To the Veynar Tribe."
Sol stopped. His crimson eyes, now fully adjusted to the bioluminescent spectrum of this new realm, widened. He had prepared himself for mud huts and primitive palisades, a stone wall if he was lucky.… or perhaps a slightly more organized version of his old village.
What greeted him was a testament to a civilization that had mastered the art of living with the world, rather than against it.
