Aarav's journey south brought him into the Blackwood Ravines—an ancient forest long twisted by dark magic and war. Trees here whispered secrets to each other, and the roots slithered like serpents beneath the earth.
The blood moon still cast its eerie light, and shadows seemed to lengthen unnaturally around him.
As he crossed a fallen log spanning a deep gorge, a voice echoed from the mist.
"You walk like a warrior, but carry the eyes of a storm."
Aarav halted. The mist parted slowly.
A woman stepped out—cloaked in emerald green, her face veiled by swirling smoke. In her hand was a staff adorned with runes that shimmered like flowing water. Her presence was not threatening—but ancient.
"I've seen you before," Aarav said. "In the north… watching me."
She nodded. "I am Vayara, keeper of the Veil, last disciple of the Silent Path. I watch those touched by destiny. But you… you shake it."
"What do you want?"
"To offer a warning—and a gift."
She extended her hand. In it lay a vial filled with liquid silver.
"This is Kalrasa, the Breath of Silence. One drop will shield your mind from corruption when you reach Shar-Gul. The city devours truth and twists memory."
Aarav accepted it carefully, slipping it into a pouch tied near the ring.
"Why help me?"
Vayara's smoky veil shimmered as she turned away. "Because I once failed to protect the one you now seek."
Aarav's breath caught. "You knew my mother."
She paused. "She was more than you know. A guardian. A flame in human form. She chose to bear the burden you now carry. Kaalkrit fears you not for who you are—but for what you might become."
Before he could ask more, she vanished into smoke, leaving only three words echoing behind her:
"Shar-Gul remembers everything."