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 12: Family Reunion
The ravines below twisted in shadow, their depths swallowing sound and warmth alike. Above, the ridge offered no shelter, only exposure to the growing wrath of the storm. The wind bit without mercy, carrying the taste of rain and the promise of thunder. Lightning flickered behind the clouds, turning their edges a dull violet, whilst the company pressed onwards, heads bowed against the gale.