The ruins exhaled cold.
Miles stepped past the threshold and felt the temperature drop like a blade sliding across his skin. Behind him, the [Dark Forest] whispered its constant, oppressive murmur.
Before him, the shattered bones of something long lost loomed, half-consumed by moss and time.
He exhaled, watching his breath mist in the air. Fog curled around his boots like curious spirits, tracing circles before slithering deeper inside.
The architecture was ancient. Not just old, but even older than the definition of the word 'old' itself.
It looked like it was built in in an era when magic was still young and raw, when runes were carved in desperation instead of understanding.
The walls were hewn from black stone veined with pale light, each block massive, carved with fading glyphs that pulsed faintly in Miles' peripheral vision but dimmed when stared at directly.
