At the end of the wasteland, there was not a sheer cliff but an invisible, yet unmistakably clear boundary. It was as if an enormous, invisible axe had cleaved the world—separating even the faintest vestige of life (even if only barely clinging on) from complete, utter distortion. One moment, underfoot lay dry, cracked earth scattered with withered yellow wild grasses and the coarse scent of dust and windblown sand; the next, upon stepping into the forest's shadowed edge, everything changed.
The air suddenly became thick and clammy, cold and damp, carrying an indescribable stench—a repulsive blend of decay and an unnaturally sweet, cloying odor that, when drawn into the lungs, seemed to make invisible maggots writhe within. Light here was devoured and distorted by an unseen force; even midday sunlight, struggling through layers of bizarre, contorted tree canopies, was reduced to feeble, sickly greenish-gray patches cast upon equally strange ground.
"By the stars above..." Raine couldn't help but utter a low curse, his stomach churning. He forced himself not to cover his mouth and nose, yet that pervasive odor made him retch repeatedly. He had never imagined that the fabled boundary of the corrupted forest would reveal such a... hellish landscape.
The scene before him was enough to make even the staunchest heart waver. The soil displayed an unhealthy, almost blood-stained shade of black-purple, soft and springy underfoot as though treading upon decayed flesh. The trees were twisted to the extreme—trunk surfaces pocked like festering boils, constantly exuding a sticky, faintly luminescent black sap. Their branches no longer stretched naturally but instead convulsed and intertwined, with leaves that shone a metallic gray-black and boasted edges as sharp as blades. Some vines, thick as pythons, tightly coiled around the trunks bore uncanny, eldritch flowers whose overlapping petals encircled central parts resembling countless minute, slowly rotating eyes that emitted a faint, sinister radiance.
More horrifying were the scattered remnants lying in the forest. A deer carcass was half embedded in the soil; its front half had completely turned to stone—a gray, rocky texture—while the hind part was in an advanced state of decay, oozing black mucus from its rotten flesh that nourished a clump of bizarre, fine-tentacled fungi growing nearby. Not far off, the skeletal remains of a gigantic bird lay askew on the ground; its bones took on an unnatural dark purple hue, and the empty eye sockets seemed to retain a dim, ghostly glimmer, as if still silently scrutinizing any intruder.
"Is this... the corrupted forest?" Raine's voice came out dry as he gripped the hilt of his sword, cold sweat beading on his palms. The visions of the Fallen Stone had once filled him with longing and urgency for the Fallenstar Citadel, but now, upon setting foot on this land, he fully realized the terror of what they were about to face.
Thalia stood aside, her ice-blue eyes reflecting the twisted scenery. Her complexion appeared even paler than usual, her breaths seemingly slowed down deliberately. She said nothing, merely extending a gloved finger to lightly touch a metallic tree leaf; the cold, sticky sensation ran through her fingertips. Her gaze turned deep, as if sensing an invisible threat in the air far more potent than the visual horror before them. The corruption here was far denser and—more active—than anywhere she had sensed before. She could clearly feel the pulsation of the Starcore Fragment at her heart; it repelled this force even as it was drawn to it, like two opposing poles in darkness, both repelling and entwining with one another.
Karrion Anvil's expression was equally grave. On his face, which usually bore hints of jest or rugged defiance, only deep disgust and a nearly painful familiarity remained. He spat on the dark-purple soil, the droplets hissing as if being swiftly corroded by some unseen power. "Bah! This cursed place makes my stomach churn more than even the worst of our dwarven swill," he said in a low voice imbued with repressed fury. He tightened his grip on the battle-axe strapped to his back; under the dim light, its blade shimmered coldly—the only weapon he had to combat this filth.
"Watch your step," Karrion cautioned in a gravelly tone, "in this accursed place, even the very earth might cost you your life. Do not touch anything that glows, and do not be misled by those 'whispers.'"
Only then did Raine notice that, apart from the nauseating smell, the air was also filled with an almost imperceptible, minute whispering—like the fluttering of countless tiny insect wings. This sound did not come from any specific direction; rather, it seemed to seep directly into his mind, full of malice, temptation, and chaotic murmurs that continuously toyed with his deepest fears and desires. Straining to focus, Raine barely managed to shut these whispers out, yet the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
They advanced with extreme caution, every step taken meticulously. Karrion forged ahead, using his heavy battle-axe to push aside the twisted underbrush blocking their path. Thalia followed closely; her senses appeared to discern dangers more acutely than her eyes, at times signaling Karrion to avoid an area that seemed harmless, at other times retrieving a small pinch of gray-white powder from a pouch at her waist and scattering it in the air, which temporarily subdued the maddening whispers. Raine lagged behind, ever vigilant of what might come from behind or from either flank, his longsword gripped tightly with no sign of slack.
After about half an hour of cautious progress, the landscape grew ever more eerie and dreadful. They even encountered remnants of partially decayed, partially petrified human or humanoid corpses; their twisted postures spoke of tremendous pain before death. The tackiness of the air and the sickly, sweet, putrid odor grew stronger by the moment.
Suddenly, Karrion halted abruptly and raised his battle-axe with a low growl: "Something's coming! Prepare for battle!"
Before his words had finished, several grayish-brown shadows burst from behind the twisted thicket of trees, lunging toward them. These creatures, slightly smaller than the wasteland wolves they had faced before, were even more distorted. Their general outlines recalled that of wolves, yet much of their fur had fallen away, revealing dark red, exposed muscle-like skin covered with writhing, moss-like black substances. Their eyes were murky white, lacking pupils, and their jaws were unnaturally gaping, exposing uneven fangs tainted with black slime. Their movements were jerky and spasmodic, yet driven by a tireless, relentless savagery.
"Corrupted wolves," Thalia warned coolly and swiftly, "beware of their bites—the corruption can invade through wounds."
The battle erupted in an instant. Although these corrupted wolves appeared even more fearsome than the previous wasteland wolves, their movements were noticeably slower, as if some of their instincts had been overridden by the corrupting power. Yet their relentlessness soon became apparent.
Raine lunged with his sword, thrusting it through the chest of one corrupted wolf; by all rights, this should have been fatal. But the wolf let out a strange, dissonant howl, its body convulsing violently, and then continued its assault without regard—black slime continuously flowed from the wound, which bizarrely seemed to slowly writhe and heal before his eyes.
"Chop off their heads! Or break their spines!" Karrion roared while swinging his heavy battle-axe, shattering bones with crushing force. His blows, resounding with the rush of wind, drove the wolves back, solid and unyielding like a human-made bulwark. Yet even with broken legs, the corrupted wolves dragged their shattered bodies to attempt biting with their fangs.
Thalia moved like a specter upon the battlefield. She did not engage head-to-head; instead, she slipped among the wolves like a phantom. Her short dagger, as lethal as a venomous snake's fang, struck precisely at the vulnerable joints or necks of the wolves. At times, she would discreetly release a small pinch of an unidentified powder, causing the wolves to momentarily hesitate or even viciously attack one another. Her swift and efficient movements, marked by an icy, almost ruthless beauty, elicited a shiver down Raine's spine.
Raine gritted his teeth, summoning all his will to overcome the terror and chaos inside him. He no longer attempted fully choreographed sword forms but instead followed Karrion's advice—using his sword's length to rapidly strike at the vital points or parry in quick succession. Clumsily, and with several near-misses that almost left him wounded, the battle soon neared its end under the combined cover of Karrion's powerful blows and Thalia's agile, precise strikes.
The last corrupted wolf let out one final, pitiful wail before finally falling under Thalia's dagger.
After the battle, silence returned to the forest, broken only by their ragged breaths and the overpowering stench of blood. Scattered on the ground were the corpses of five or six corrupted wolves, their blood staining the withered, yellowed grass.
Raine, leaning on his sword, surveyed the scene as his stomach churned. This was his first true brush with mortal combat—a fight far more brutal and chaotic than he had ever imagined. He glanced at Karrion, who, though slightly winded, remained steadfast as he checked his axe for any damage. Then his gaze shifted to Thalia.
The witch stood beside a fallen wolf, wiping the blood from her dagger with a cloth. In the dim light, her face looked somewhat pale, and her breathing had quickened slightly, yet her expression remained as calm as a still pond. The eerie and efficient manner in which she killed gave Raine a disconcerting sense of detachment and... unease. Who exactly was she? Were the powers that allowed her to merge with shadows and the bizarre powders she used really those of an ordinary "Shadow Witch"?
Thalia seemed to sense his gaze. She raised her eyes to meet his, her ice-blue orbs revealing no outward emotion—only an unfathomable, bottomless cold. Raine opened his mouth to ask something, yet ultimately he merely withdrew his gaze and began checking himself for fresh wounds.
This brief, chaotic battle, while forcing them to coordinate initially, also clearly exposed their differences and deepened the mounting doubts and suspicions within Raine's heart.
As darkness fell, the temperature in the wasteland plummeted. The howling wind sliced through the deadwood forest, producing a mournful sound. The three found refuge behind a windswept rock wall on a relatively flat clearing, where they built a small campfire. The flickering flames dispelled a measure of the chill, yet failed to dissolve the subtle tension that hung between them.
Karrion sat by the fire, taking out his whetstone and carefully honing his battle-axe, producing a steady "shh-shh" sound. He seemed entirely absorbed in his own world, indifferent to the silence around him, but Raine knew all too well that beneath that rough exterior lay a meticulous mind, ever observing everything.
Thalia leaned against the rock wall, her small leather pouch of various materials resting on her knees as she cleaned the bloodstains off her dagger with an unknown liquid. The dancing firelight cast shifting shadows upon her pale profile, rendering her appearance even more enigmatic.
After a long while, Raine finally broke the silence.
"Thalia," he said as calmly as he could manage, "about that Fallen Stone... why did you attack me earlier? What does it mean to you—or to someone like you?"
Thalia paused in her cleaning but did not look up. The firelight fell upon her lowered lashes, casting a shadow. "I have said it before—the stone contains a special power. For some, it is both a key and a curse," she murmured softly, as if her words might be carried away by the wind, "I only... do not want it to fall into the wrong hands."
"Wrong hands? Like mine?" Raine pressed, his tone tinged with a barely perceptible hurt and caution.
At last, Thalia raised her head; her ice-blue eyes flickered with a complex light in the fire's glow. Instead of directly answering, she turned the discussion toward him: "Raine Dawnstar... the Dawnstar family. An ancient and... unfortunate name. How well do you really understand your family's history, the essence that flows in your blood?"
Her question was like a finely honed key, instantly pricking the most sensitive part of Raine's heart. The downfall of his family, the sparse yet undeniable Starborne blood coursing within him, and the hazy, elusive memories of his inherited legacy—these were mysteries he had long attempted to avoid delving into deeply.
"I..." Raine was at a loss, realizing that he knew little of these matters—or rather, that what he did know might only be the tip of an iceberg, or perhaps a façade deliberately hidden. "I only know that my family... once were Starborne nobles, and then we fell. As for my blood... I only know it has brought me some... troubles." He hesitated, gesturing vaguely toward his head, implying the unstable precognition and its inevitable backlash.
Thalia gazed at him silently, her eyes piercing as if to read the secrets of his soul. "Troubles? Perhaps. But the gifts of the stars never come without a price." Her words carried an ancient, fated cadence, "Some bloodlines are destined to bear responsibilities and... curses beyond the imagining of ordinary men."
She then returned her gaze to her dagger, her tone reverting to its previous flat quality with a hint of subtle inquiry, "The vision you saw—about your sister... are you sure that is the entire truth?"
Raine's heart sank abruptly. Thalia's question pierced the fragile bubble of hope he had clung to. He recalled the cool touch of Karrion's talisman, and that faint unease deep within his soul.
At that moment, a sudden chill surged up his spine—not merely from the cold of the night but from a deeper, internal frost. He felt as if countless unseen eyes were watching from the darkness, filled with malice and... hunger. The firelight seemed to flicker as the surrounding darkness deepened, as if something lurked at the edge of the shadows, restless and eager.
He quickly scanned his surroundings, yet aside from the howling wind and the swaying silhouettes of barren branches, there was nothing.
"What's wrong?" Karrion asked warily, having ceased sharpening his axe.
"Nothing..." Raine shook his head, trying to dispel the ominous premonition—a sensation as fleeting and fragmented as a broken dream, inscrutable yet leaving a lingering shadow of ice on his heart.
He looked once more toward Thalia. The witch still kept her head low, meticulously cleaning her dagger as if the preceding conversation and his own unease meant nothing to her. But Raine couldn't shake the thought that perhaps she knew something—something about him, about the future, about the hidden secrets of this perilous wasteland and the forbidden land they were about to enter.
The crackling of the fire cast their elongated, distorted shadows on the cold rock wall—shadows that twisted and stretched like a dire omen. The lonely night over the wasteland was cold and long, filled with unknown dangers and an ever-present undercurrent of suspicion and unease. Their journey had only just begun, yet the trust between them flickered uncertainly like a candle in the wind. In the distance, the corruption-infested forest loomed like a dormant beast ready to devour all light, silently awaiting their arrival.