Their pursuit stretched across nearly two hundred kilometers of rugged, winding terrain.
The fleeing group never once paused, never once left obvious tracks. But Elyon didn't need footprints or torn foliage. He needed only the shadows.
With every hour, the terrain became harsher. Towering peaks gave way to jagged ridges and narrow canyons that twisted back upon themselves. The air grew thinner, colder, filled with the iron scent of old earth. Here, mortal travelers would never tread.
"The rocks here… they're strange," Meng Bai noted, pressing a hand to a cliff wall.
Daoist Chu nodded. "Dense. Heavily mineralized. My immortal sense can barely pass a few kilometers."
"Same here," Lin Mu murmured. "It's like trying to see through steel."
"I'll guide us," Elyon said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
None of them questioned him. In these lands, the light was a liar, but darkness remembered. And Elyon could read that memory.
