Frost clings to the roots of ancient trees, and the air tastes of rain long fallen. Paths wind through forests that shift when unlooked at, and rivers murmur in tongues older than the stones they pass. In this land, magic does not announce itself — it waits, patient as winter, until the moment it chooses to rise. Those who travel here will find beauty and peril braided together, and the choices they make will echo far beyond the sound of their own footsteps.
The Scrollkeepers Archive
Chapter 7: Beneath the Surface
Nix felt different, not like he had felt before when meditating on the deck of the Mistwing, when he had tried to become one with the pain, as his mother had taught him long ago, breathing into it until pain and self became indistinguishable. Instead, as he had begun to feel the presence of the creature in the river hunting him, he had expected his recently awakened natural predator, Tiorian Lightweaver, instincts to surface, to rise snarling and defensive, all fangs and readiness.