The grasslands were beautiful.
Too beautiful, perhaps–peaceful in a way that felt almost intentional, as though the land itself wished to lull them into forgetting what waited beyond.
Dew clung to the grass in fine silver threads, cool beneath their boots. A gentle breeze passed through the open field, carrying the faint scent of moss and distant trees.
Diala exhaled softly.
"The dew here," she said, eyes sweeping the land, "is more refreshing than the grasslands beneath the Arshlands."
No one disagreed.
Before anyone could respond, the tokens reacted.
Seven trial tokens lifted simultaneously, drifting toward their respective owners as if pulled by invisible threads. They hovered briefly, then settled–each aligning itself with quiet precision.
Far ahead, the ground stirred.
