The land spoke to her. Every root, every grub in the soil, every starving wolf at the edge of the clearing. She felt the Acolytes three hundred paces east, their boots crushing rare moonpetals. She felt the corrupted levin-worm burrowing beneath the Wasted Shore, its body a tumor of dark magic. And she felt Ras—somewhere far above, fighting on the high cliffs—his sword a lonely star in the dark.
Her mission was simple on paper: retrieve the Heartseed of Sylvan before the Acolytes’ cultists could corrupt it into a weapon. But Ras had warned her. “Some places remember. And some places judge.” verdant adin epic seven
“You think rot is the end?” she said, grabbing the tendril with her bare hand. Vines from her palm entwined the black thorns. “Rot is just the first page of the next chapter.” The land spoke to her