[Damien Pov]
The transition was abrupt.
One moment, the Iron-Horse Mark II was rolling over the grey, paved roads of the Dwarven mountain passes, surrounded by snow-capped peaks and the smell of pine.
The next, the road ended.
The carriage hit a ridge, and suddenly, the world turned red.
Ahead of them lay the Western Continent. It wasn't a forest, and it wasn't a kingdom. It was a scar on the face of the world.
Endless canyons of jagged, rust-colored rock stretched to the horizon. The ground was cracked and dry, baking under a sun that seemed twice as large and angry here as it did in the East.
Heat haze shimmered off the ground, distorting the air like a mirage.
"Ugh..." Lyra groaned from the backseat, fanning herself with a large leaf she had conjured. Her grey skin looked pale and sweaty.
"This air... it's dead. There is no moisture. No life. Just dust and fire mana."
