The trees here were unlike any forest Molvar had ever passed through. Towering trunks, their bark charred-black and rough as if scorched by fire, exuded a faint, sweet scent that defied explanation. The overlapping canopy above was so thick that sunlight only bled through in scattered streaks, falling like stardust into a half-lit, half-shadowed world.
It wasn't true darkness—but a kind of light that had been smothered by time itself.
Karl moved cautiously, eyes constantly scanning between the tree trunks. The air here was still. Too still.
No birdsong, no breeze, not even the echo of their own footsteps.
Molvar whispered, trying to keep his voice low:
"You sure this place isn't cursed? Feels like we just walked into something's open mouth."
Karl didn't answer. He stopped, knelt down, and pressed a hand to the earth. The gravity beneath his palm shifted strangely, as though they were standing atop a thin veil separating two layers of reality.
