Before the floods reshaped the land, the map of Tursan sprawled like a tapestry woven from ancient stories and whispers of old magic. Aged parchment marked with faded ink reveals winding forest trails, river paths,…
Xaya’s Epilogue: A faint, ghostly recording lingers in the air, caught like a whisper in the threads of magic. “As the realm trembles in its last breaths before the shift…” Xaya’s voice, soft yet steady,…
A few pages of an old journal lay strewn across the forest floor, edges frayed and ink faded by time. How odd! The handwriting is steady but whimsical, marked by the occasional doodle of leaves…