A couple of days had passed since Lin Mu, Daoist Chu, and Meng Bai had left the Xian Sword Sect, riding atop Little Shrubby's broad back.
The change in the landscape had been stark and steady. Verdant grasslands and forested hills had slowly given way to dry, cracked plains coated in a powdery veil of gray. The air carried a dry mineral scent, and even the clouds above seemed tinged with soot, as though the sky itself remembered the fire that once raged here.
The group now traveled over lands that were barren and silent. Small plants occasionally poked through the ash, resilient herbs with thick stalks and dull green leaves, but they were sparse. What life remained was tough, half-hidden, or cloaked in colors that mimicked the ash itself.
