THE MAGICAL REALM
July 7, 3111 BCE – The Hour of Resurgence
The moment Kai crossed the threshold, his lungs forgot how to breathe.
Shambala wasn't just beautiful—it was alive in ways that hurt to witness. The air didn't just shimmer; it sang in harmonies no human throat could replicate. The trees weren't merely glowing—their roots pulsed like veins, pumping liquid starlight through bark that shifted between wood and glass. Above them, floating islands drifted like thoughts in a god's dream, tethered to nothing but the whims of forgotten laws.
Kai reached out to steady himself against a crystal spire—and jerked back as it melted under his touch, reforming into a perfect replica of his own face, its mouth stretched in a silent scream.
A World That Rewrites the Senses
The Forests of Echoing Names Every step made the trees whisper the traveler's true name—a sound so intimate, Veyra vomited upon hearing hers. Flowers bloomed in time with heartbeats. Pluck one, and your pulse stuttered in sympathy. The Rivers of Remembered Light The "water" wasn't liquid, but condensed time. Those who drank saw flashes of their own deaths—except the Silent Apostle, who saw nothing at all. Fish made of liquid gold swam upstream through the air, their gills filtering lost memories. The Sky That Wasn't a Sky The twin suns were eyes. Blinking. Watching. At the horizon, a third light stirred—the Resurgence Star, pulsing like a warning.
The Price of Wonder
The team's awe curdled to dread as Shambala reacted to their presence:
Rook's shadow detached itself and began climbing a crystal spire without him.The Empty Prophet's mirror finally reflected something—a version of Shambala where the diamonds had never existed. Just ash. Endless ash.Kai reached for a low-hanging fruit—and his arm aged seventy years in the seconds it took to pull back.
And then they heard it.
Singing.
Not the flowers. Not the rivers.
The diamonds.
All ten, harmonizing from their hidden places, calling the thieves deeper in.