Lyerin's decision to leave the chaos behind was deliberate.
The battle he had just witnessed—so raw, so unfathomably destructive—reminded him of the immense dangers this world posed, even for someone of his power.
He turned his back on the devastated forest and began his journey, retracing his steps toward the statues his temporary tribe had constructed under his strict command.
As he moved, his mind raced, calculating the possibilities and dangers while his sharp eyes scanned every inch of the mysterious land around him.
The first stop on Lyerin's journey was a narrow canyon, its walls made of jagged black stone that shimmered faintly under the dim light filtering through the perpetually clouded sky.
Each step he took echoed off the walls, creating a dissonant melody that seemed almost alive.
Strange vines grew out of the cracks in the obsidian rock, their surfaces covered in translucent beads of glowing liquid.