The ruins stretched on for miles, their once-grand architecture now half-buried beneath centuries of decay. Cracked stone pathways, overtaken by tangled roots and creeping black moss, twisted through the landscape like veins of a dying corpse. Towering spires, shattered at their peaks, jutted from the earth like the exposed ribs of a long-dead beast, their surfaces marred by deep claw marks and eerie, twisting glyphs that pulsed faintly in the dim light.
The air itself was thick, suffused with the coppery scent of dried blood and the sickly-sweet rot of decayed flesh. A stagnant heat clung to their skin, heavy and oppressive, carrying a low, almost imperceptible whisper—as if the ruins themselves were breathing.
