Jared and Luther launched from the black-ice ramparts of Coldabyss City, twin streaks, one gray, one jet, racing into the vast western sky.
Wind clawed at their sleeves, yet neither slowed, the western region waited.
Between the northern lands and that frontier stretched several hundred thousand kilometers of wilderness and fractured kingdoms. Even at their fastest, the journey promised many relentless days in the air. To avoid celestial patrols or hidden checkpoints, they chose the loneliest path.
The Godgrave Mountains straddled the border of the northern and central regions. They followed its shadowed spine westward, trusting solitude over any safe road.
Legends claimed the range was an ancient battlefield where gods and fiends once clashed. Peaks speared the heavens, tips lost inside a choking sheet of gray-black death mist.
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