Two figures moved steadily across the vast plains of Yen-Lu, their silhouettes outlined only by the faint starlight.
One was an elderly figure draped in tattered robes. He held an ancient lantern in one hand and a wooden staff in the other. The other was a young man with long, flowing raven hair. He wore a black cloak, and he also had a blindfold on.
The night around them felt heavy. It was quiet in a way that wasn't peaceful, but watchful. The grass swayed in long, slow waves, rustling just enough to remind them how empty the world around them was.
From time to time, the pair walked straight through bloody battlefields where Magi from the Unorthodox Faction and the Arcane Alliance waged a brutal war. But strangely enough, none of them seemed to notice the two of them—clearly, a result of the elderly man's magic.
The two traveled for a couple of months together, and now their destination was within sight.
"We're almost there," said the hermit, his voice aged but gentle.
