Perched on the lip of a towering cliff where sky and sea meet in endless conversation, the sanctuary hidden between the leaves of Espadavale rests in quiet defiance of time. Here, the roar of the world fades into the soft murmurs of wind and wave—a place not forgotten, but deliberately set apart. The grass stretches thick and velvety underfoot, its lushness a testament to years of quiet care. Each blade seems to lean into the wind as if listening, too, to the secrets whispered by the tide far below.
Amon and his group followed the young sword maiden through the mysterious mist formation until they emerged into a transcendental plain. This beautiful paradise seemed untouched by human civilisation and industry. And at the centre of it all was a simple wooden hut.
