The beauty of Lorienya stretched endlessly, but gradually, almost imperceptibly, it began to fade. The green grew darker. The rivers lost their shimmer. The air thickened, not foul, but heavy, as though it carried the weight of a breath held too long.
And then the border came into view.
Where the roots of the forest met the dry plains, the world simply stopped. One side was alive; the other, dead. The grass ended in a perfect line, beyond it, gray dust and twisted soil stretched into a barren expanse. No sound. No wind. Just silence and stillness.
Ashwing's growl echoed faintly through Lindarion's mind. "This wasn't like this last time."
"No," Lindarion murmured, leaning forward, eyes narrowing. "It's spreading."
They descended slowly, wind curling off Ashwing's wings as they landed near the border. The impact sent a small cloud of dust spiraling upward, the smell of decay faint but sharp. Lindarion stepped off, boots pressing into lifeless soil.
