Darkness came first.
Not as an absence of light—but as a weight.
Nhyara smelled before she saw anything: damp leaves, living earth, fresh resin. The distant sound of water running between stones. The air heavy with natural mana, soft, pulsating, familiar.
She was standing.
Her feet touched the ground of the ancient forest, the soft ground covered in moss. The trees rose tall, dark trunks, dense canopies filtering the sunlight in golden beams. The forest sang softly, as it always had.
"Don't stray," said a voice behind her.
Nhyara turned.
Yunara was there, bow in hand, her hair neatly tied back, her eyes attentive but calm. There was a small smile on her lips, the one that always appeared when they were hunting together.
"I know," Nhyara replied, feeling the lightness in her own voice. "You always say that."
