The Gray-Ash Plains were a desolate, windswept wasteland. A scar of a forgotten magical war. The ground was a uniform, depressing grey. A mixture of fine, volcanic ash and pulverized stone. Nothing grew here. Only a few, skeletal, petrified trees. They clawed at a sky of perpetual, overcast gloom. A dead, empty place. The perfect, secret highway for a convoy carrying a world-ending plague.
Asylum, their colossal fortress-golem, moved through this desolate landscape like a silent, walking mountain. Its massive footfalls were muffled by the thick layer of ash. They were a ghost in a graveyard. Their presence a secret kept by the mournful, howling wind.
Their mission was a race against the cold, unforgiving clock. Selene's intelligence was precise. The caravan was moving at a steady pace. It would reach the outskirts of Silverstream by dawn. They had one night. One chance to intercept it. To stop the apocalypse before it could begin.
