The air changed first.
As the united army crested the final ridge separating them from what had once been the Verdant Valley, Reed felt the difference before he saw it. The wind carried particles that stung his nostrils—metallic, acrid, and undercut with the unmistakable sweetness of rot. His partially corrupted flesh prickled in recognition, the twisting tendrils beneath his skin responding to their master's proximity.
"By the Ancestral Crown," whispered Lady Elyriana, her composed aristocratic demeanor crumbling as she beheld the valley. "What manner of abomination is this?"
