But to Lindarion's eyes, something darker shimmered beneath it, a web of black fissures pulsing faintly westward, spreading like ink through glass.
"Do you see it too?" he murmured.
Ashwing's eyes flickered gold. "Yeah. It's faint, but it's there. It looks… hungry."
Lindarion nodded. "Follow it."
They flew west.
The forest changed quickly as they went. The golden light of Lorienya's domain faded, replaced by deeper greens and dusky fog. The trees grew denser, older, their trunks thick with moss that shimmered faintly as if absorbing the last vestiges of sunlight.
And still, the dark current flowed beneath them, threading through roots and stones, whispering like something alive.
Lindarion closed his eyes briefly, letting his mana sense extend outward, like casting a net through water.
He felt movement. Not life, but consumption. Dozens, no, hundreds, of smaller currents being siphoned into a singular, distant pulse.
And then, beneath it all, a voice.
