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 10: Voices in the Wind
Dream pressed on him like a tide. Nix knew he was sleeping, felt the weight of his body upon the cliff top, the cool stone beneath his shoulders where his wing wounds still ached. Yet he felt himself drifting, unmoored. He sensed his friends close by in their quiet watch, untroubled, unaware of Simi's presence, sharp and relentless, somewhere beyond the ravines.