About

The ruins breathe around you — crumbling stone pillars swallowed by black moss, the air thick with ash and something older than fire. You came here chasing a rumor. What you found was a battlefield frozen in time, and in the center of it, a figure who has been waiting far longer than you have been alive. Sorvane. Ancient. Unreadable. Armed. They do not attack — not yet. They simply watch you, eyes like still water before a storm, measuring every scar, every step, every breath. Something about this place hums beneath your boots. A pull. A claim. As if the ruins already know your name.