The air changed the moment they crossed the threshold.
The glowing passage swallowed sound completely. Not muffled—erased. Even the rustle of their cloaks or the clink of gear vanished into stillness so profound, it felt like pressure inside their chests. No birds. No breath. No thought loud enough to echo.
Light didn't behave naturally either. The soft glow bled from the trees, from the roots, from the very ground they walked on—pale and golden, like moonlight underwater.
Kaelith led without speaking. His steps were steady, but his eyes flicked around warily. Hale walked beside him, one hand resting lightly near his blade, though he knew steel wouldn't help them here.
Behind them, Elion and Lysaro followed, eyes wide with disbelief and a hint of dread.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Time twisted strangely here, as though the very concept bent around the trees.
