Stephan and Olath reappeared in a land that was a far cry from Magodilin. The air here was dry, heavy, and carried the copper tang of blood. Around them stretched a barren wasteland where skeletal trees stood lifeless, their twisted branches clawing upward like hands frozen in desperation.
Cutting through the desolation ran a river, its waters thick, sluggish, and red as spilled blood.
Stephan whistled low. "Well, Emo kid, where the hell have you dragged us now?"
Olath's pale eyes swept the bleak horizon. His voice came quiet, almost reverent.
"This place is called the Blood River."
"You've been here before?" Stephan asked, suspicion lacing his tone.
The boy shook his head.
Stephan narrowed his eyes. "So let me get this straight, you've never set foot here, but somehow you know where you're going?"
Olath stopped for a moment, looking up at him. "We're heading to the Soul, aren't we?"
"That's right." Stephan smirked. "So how do you know this place if you've never been here?"
