(The Vision – The People's Desperation)
The vision shifted once more, carried on the heavy winds of the endless storm that had raged for more than a week.
The once-pristine kingdom of Noctiflora had become a grim, rain-soaked wasteland.
The Goddess of the Forest lay dead for days now, her luminous body long since carried away by the blood-tainted river into the dark depths of the forest. The Magica Tree, the heart of the realm, was still smoldering — its split trunk blackened and silent. Every tree in the forest had died. Every flower. Every spring. The canopy was gone. The undergrowth was choked with black rot. The air itself felt heavy with the scent of decay and wet earth.
And the rain had not stopped even for a single hour.
