It was a jarring change of reality.
One moment, the horizon was a sucking, miserable expanse of marshland; the next, it was a vertical wall of an ancient tropical world.
Percival craned his neck, looking up into the gloom of the Mangrove Battlefield.
Just as he remembered it.
Well, truthfully, his memory wasn't that clear at all. But seeing it again, he was struck with suck clarity that it felt like he was reliving that day.
The cries. The terror. The slaughter as numbers of Awakeners were killed by lizard men and lizard birds.
All of it has occurred in this chaotic, impossible architecture. The mangrove trees were as tall as the concept of the word, reaching the far sky with thick barks as thick as buildings and roots as massive as castle towers.
There was barely any ground here, just roots and more roots, twisting at every corner, forming a precarious, multi-layered web suspended over the abyss.
