The ground crunched beneath his boots.
It wasn't stone, not really. Something between sand and bone dust. Every step left an imprint that faded too fast, like the land refused to remember him.
'Good. That means it'll forget my scent too.'
He kept his steps light. Even. Always watching the skyline.
The east ridge wasn't far—but distance lied on this continent. Nothing stayed still. The horizon tilted. Shapes twisted under shadow. What looked like fifty meters could stretch like chewing gum if the land decided it wanted to see you suffer.
'Anchor your mana Merlin..'
He pressed his palm lightly to the ground. A flicker of wind affinity surged down through the soil—a soft pulse. It came back clean. No distortion underfoot. The space was real.
For now.
He kept moving.
Twenty minutes in, the slope finally tilted steep enough to force him into a crouch. He reached up with his good arm and grabbed the edge of a broken pillar half-buried in the soil.
Not natural.
