The Wildlands welcomed them with silence.
Not the kind born of peace, but one that whispered of watching eyes and waiting teeth. The trees stood twisted and tall, their branches coiled like the fingers of sleeping giants. Moss clung to their trunks in sickly green patches, and every step taken kicked up dust and ash.
By midmorning, the outpost was nothing but a distant memory. The worn trail they followed curved like a scar through the undergrowth, barely maintained, and soon even that faded. The deeper they went, the more the world seemed to turn inward—older, darker, and far more silent.
"This isn't your usual C-rank dungeon hike," Talon muttered, flicking away a gnat the size of a coin. "Feels like something's watching us already."
"It is," Seris replied without lifting her gaze from the forest line. "Everything out here watches."
Ares walked at the front.
