The light from the gateway slowly faded, leaving behind a chill in the air and the faint scent of early morning dew. Karl and Molvar stepped onto moss-covered stone, finding themselves in a land unlike anything they had seen before: The Veiled Border — the hazy threshold between the Twilight Forest and the Kingdom beyond.
A pale mist drifted through the landscape, curling around craggy rocks and barren trees like ghostly fingers. In the distance, white limestone hills stood weathered and alone, like ancient scars upon the land.
Molvar looked around, sniffing. "No guards, no outposts, not a soul in sight. Looks like we came through the kind of path nobody wants to use."
Karl nodded. "Exactly."
Their footsteps echoed faintly on the stone floor. Karl paused before a crumbled monolith, half-swallowed by moss. The runes etched into its surface were mostly worn away, but he could still recognize fragments—ancient script used by the earliest scholars of the realm.
