The air inside the Forbidden Zone near the Valdris Territory was wrong.
It wasn't a difference a commoner might notice immediately, but a subtle heaviness that settled into the marrow, a pressure that made every breath an effort and every step feel like wading through deep water.
The trees here were ancient, their bark scarred by claws and fire, their canopy so dense that sunlight only reached the forest floor in pale, trembling patches.
Julia moved carefully through the undergrowth, her boots placed with the precision of someone who had learned that a single wrong step could be her last. Her robes were dark and practical, woven with simple enchantments that offered minor protection against the ambient mana that hung in the air like fog.
The staff in her hand was old, passed down from her grandmother, its wood worn smooth by hands that had long since turned to dust. At eighteen, she was the youngest member of the Iron Stag hunting party.
