The grass beneath his boots was soft as breath.
The mist curled like fingers around his ankles.
And ahead, the land seemed to shift with every step—like a dream not yet decided on what it wanted to be.
Argolaith pressed forward.
He had walked for what felt like hours. Maybe days. Time here did not move the way it should. The sky did not change. The light never dimmed, but it also never brightened. It was as though the land had paused, waiting for him to decide something.
The Reaper Beast had pointed him this way.
And at first, he'd followed.
Through silver streams that whispered his name.
Past trees that bore fruit shaped like old memories.
Over flat stone paths carved with ancient promises he didn't remember making.
Eventually, he saw it.
A tree.
Not massive, not twisted—but perfect. Too perfect.
Its trunk gleamed like gold veined with pearl. Its branches shimmered with translucent leaves, each glowing faintly with inner light. And hanging from the lowest bough—
