Dust mingled with sparks, and the night sky was a murky grey. The dusty clouds in the air hung like drapes, casting the sporadic glimmer of fires onto the ground. The night was less suited for sleep than the day, with darkness serving merely as a canvas to paint fear upon. Each breath carried the thick scent of smoke and dust, and the parched earth underfoot made walking intensely uncomfortable. Were it not for the absence of scorching lava rivers and the pervasive smell of sulfur, Lyle might have thought he had arrived at the Hell Plane.
"Posuwa is beyond hope." Lyle shook his head, his spur-of-the-moment stroll greatly souring his mood. Nia coiled on his back, her upright body extending feelers all around like an agitated cat. The vicinity was crowded with "people"—locals of Posuwa, disheveled, with contorted faces, gasping for air nearby in small groups, like jackals. The darkness that enshrouded them, the congregation of malice, sent chills down Lyle's spine.
