As the quartet crossed into the Guardian's domain, it felt as though they'd stepped through an invisible veil. Behind them lay the island of Aurethys, a cold wasteland of rot and shadows. Ahead stretched a realm of impossible warmth and health, a palace alive with vitality.
Ylerias scanned the horizon, breath catching. "Extraordinary," she murmured, knuckles white on her hilt.
"A far cry from outside," Elvivion rasped.
"And yet...", Ylerias's voice was tense.
"Yet what?" Elvivon asked, eyes darting to the foliage.
"The air," Ylerias replied. "It feels heavy with an apex predator's gaze. Why do I feel like a lamb being ushered into the slaughterhouse?"
Xuelong looked up, shielding her eyes from the brilliance. Above them, a golden radiance cascaded from a sky devoid of the island's characteristic, ominous clouds. "An artificial firmament," she observed, her tone clinical despite the wonder of it.
