Other World 25

Third Person's POV

The northern landscape was far more desolate than the young lad had anticipated. The closer he got to his destination, the more air seemed to thicken with a sense of dread. The trees grew sparse, their trunks twisted and gnarled, as if they had been scarred by something ancient and malevolent. The sky was a constant, oppressive gray, and a biting wind swept through the barren land, cutting through the young lad's cloak and sending shivers down his spine.

As he approached the northernmost village, the scale of the devastation became clear. What had once been a thriving community was now little more than a wasteland. Houses lay in ruins, their roofs caved in and walls blackened by fire. The fields, once lush with crops, were nothing but charred stumps, and the few villagers who remained moved like ghosts through the wreckage, their faces drawn and hollow with despair.