The mechanical roar of the Brassvale flight unit gradually faded into the dark, swirling clouds above, carrying away Mileon—the man who had just traded his city's soul for a seat at the table of industry. But his departure left no peace in its wake. High above the gargantuan boughs of Elarwyn, the atmosphere was thick with the stench of corrosive black smoke billowing from the dimension rift that had just been forcibly slammed shut.
The silence of the night was shattered by the guttural, hungry growls of the Abyssal creatures—vile remnants trapped in this world after the breach. Their cries echoed through the vast, rustling canopy, where the once-vibrant emerald leaves were now beginning to blacken and shrivel at the edges.
