Before us, the plains of the Garden stretched out, covered in glowing fissures and warm grass that pulsed beneath our steps. Every breath of wind carried a scent of sap and ash.
Behind us, the mist still hid the traces of yesterday's battle — the golden bursts, the scorched earth, the shadows of our wounds. Silence had swallowed everything, even our fear.
Sylvara walked beside me, slightly hunched, her wings half-folded. The silver membranes, torn in places, shimmered with faint blue light. Her armor held together by sheer luck — and still, she kept going. I was limping, but I refused to slow down.
Each step burned, but turning back wasn't an option anymore. The Garden offered no rest — only trials disguised as beauty. We had to keep moving, again and again, because stopping here meant disappearing.
