The northern winds were colder here.
Not the chill of winter but something older, heavier.
A cold that clung to the soul.
Their convoy crested the ridge, and what awaited below wasn't a camp…
It was a graveyard that still breathed.
Tents sagged half-collapsed. The banners of the Northern Vein Guard fluttered weakly, their edges blackened by some unseen rot. Soldiers moved like ghosts faces pale, eyes hollow, veins along their necks traced in shadow. The air shimmered with distortion, a faint, oily haze twisting the horizon.
Lord Lito Corzedar dismounted first, his expression carved from stone. His Shinrei pulsed faintly, stirring the corrupted air aside with every controlled breath.
"By the winds… what happened here?"
A soldier stumbled forward armor dull, eyes dim, a tremor running through his limbs. He knelt immediately, his voice brittle as frost.
"My lord… you came."
Lito's voice thundered low, the command in it tempered by dread.
