[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

"I thought those idiots said this would be a town," Grimm muttered beneath his helm as he surveyed the area. "This place is a dump."

His words were annoyed, but they carried disappointment. He had expected little—after the state of the plains, anything resembling civilization would have been a mercy—but even that expectation had not prepared him for this.

The town was large. Uncomfortably so. Larger than a place in this condition had any right to be.

Age clung to everything.

Stone walls sagged inward, mortar had darkened into something closer to rot than any kind of stonework, cracked and crumbling. Towers rose where watchfulness perhaps mattered once, but now they leaned just slightly. Banners still hung in places, though whatever symbols or colors they had once borne had long since faded into meaningless stains.

Roofs bowed under their own weight. Wooden shingles split, some missing entirely. Several buildings looked as though they had been repaired over and over again across different eras, layers stacked without care or pride—just enough work done to keep the structure standing, never enough to make it whole.

And hanging over it all was the gloom.

The sky remained overcast, a flat, lifeless gray that pressed down on the town. Narrow roads twisted between crooked houses, worn smooth in places and broken in others. Shallow puddles gathered where the ground dipped, reflecting nothing but the same dead sky above.

The town should have been bustling, given its size.

It wasn't.

People were few.

Those who lingered moved quietly, wrapped in old cloaks and threadbare clothing. Faces were drawn tight with fatigue. Some stiffened when they noticed Grimm, unease alight openly across their expressions. Others watched from doorways, not with curiosity but with agitation, surprise seemed to have had long since abandoned them. A few passed him without speaking at all, heads bowed, hands pulled close to their bodies as if warmth—or safety—might be found there.

The town felt hollow and underpopulated.

As if many had left and never come back.

Shops were sparse, and most were shuttered. Windows were clouded with grime or boarded over entirely, signs either faded beyond recognition or missing altogether.

Grimm turned his head toward a man passing nearby, cloaked and hunched.

"Hey, you—"

"Gah!"

The man shrieked the moment he noticed Grimm and bolted past him, nearly tripping over his own feet as he fled down the street.

Grimm watched him go in silence.

"Hm. Must've been scared of my awesomeness," he decided dryly, resuming his leisurely stride through the decaying streets.

The few remaining gazes followed him as he walked. Four. Maybe five at most.

A town this large shouldn't have felt this dead.

("Fantastic. Most of 'em look like they'll piss themselves the moment I approach.") Grimm noted internally. He had always been a good judge of character. That—and he was well aware that a towering figure clad in dark armor tended to invite certain assumptions.

Monster, being one of them.

For now, his objective was simple: find someone who wouldn't immediately panic.

He continued on, scanning the streets as he went. His ears caught the whispers easily, even beneath the helm. Fear dominated most of them, but confusion threaded through as well. More than a few voices speculated that he was some kind of Heart Kingdom soldier.

("Heart Kingdom is such a stupid name.") Grimm thought flatly. If nothing else, he was grateful he wouldn't have to preserve his sanity by wondering what kind of ruler thought that sounded impressive.

Eventually, he spotted someone stationary.

An old woman sat on the porch of what appeared to be her shop—a large, weather-beaten wooden structure with a faded red roof. Her clothing was baggy and layered: a long brown dress, a thick scarf wrapped around her shoulders, a tarp draped over her head to ward off the damp air. In her hands was a knitting project, bright red yarn looping steadily as her needles clicked together.

Grimm approached.

"You there," he called.

The woman looked up slowly. Her eyes were narrow—so narrow it was difficult to see her pupils at all.

"Yes, laddy?" she replied. Her voice was calm. Surprisingly so. She didn't flinch or even recoil. Either she wasn't intimidated or she simply didn't care.

"I've got some questions," Grimm said. "Suppose you could say I'm a traveler."

"A traveler dressed in such fancy armor, eh?" the woman remarked, not looking up from her knitting. "Nearly mistook you for one of them Heart Kingdom soldiers. They're fond of fancy black armor, they are."

"This Heart Kingdom," Grimm asked, "is it well known?"

"Of course," she said matter-of-factly. "One of the bloody biggest kingdoms there is. Ain't a soul alive who hasn't heard of it." She paused, then glanced up briefly. "Though your armor's entirely black. Look close enough and one wouldn't mistake you for them for long. Still… that hair. Red as blood. Same as the Queen's. Some folk might take that as an insult."

"How stupid," Grimm muttered. Then, more firmly, "Moving on—does the Vel'ryr Empire ring any bell?"

"No, laddy. Apologies." She shook her head.

("Another denial of the empire's existence?") Grimm thought. ("Is this hag senile?") But the thought didn't settle easily. ("I've never even heard of this Heart Kingdom. Even a small kingdom wouldn't slip past me.") Annoyance crept in. ("This is shaping up to be a pain.")

"I was told this place is way out in the outskirts," he said aloud. "That the Emerald City is closest. There any other places worth mentioning?"

The old woman studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Well, ya seem strong enough, laddy. Perhaps…" She gestured westward with her chin. "Not far from here there's an ol' forest west. Locals call it the Black Forest. Nasty place. You don't quite make it out when you're in." She chuckled softly. "Those rare few who do survive say it's directionless. Walk long enough and ya might end up right back here. Still… if ya make it through, you might find other civilization."

"Why not just go around it?" Grimm asked.

The woman laughed at that. "Oh, you'll see when ya get there."

"…Right. Thanks," Grimm said, turning away.

As he walked off, he could still feel her gaze pressing into his back.

("I'm not finding that idiot Mallory just wandering around.") Grimm thought. ("Odds are I'll have to use that. Hate turning—but at least I can tell her to meet me at a mutual location. No idea where that would even be, but it may be easier than this Emerald City.") He sighed inwardly. ("How annoying. My life used to be simple. I should've just stayed a researcher.")

Behind him, the old woman watched him go.

"Kukuku…" she murmured softly, her knitting pausing. Her eyes opened fully—revealing an abyss where pupils should have been. "He really is as interesting as the others say."

Her smile widened.

"Now," she whispered, "I am interested."

Grimm turned sharply.

The sensation had been unmistakable—an awareness crawling along the back of his neck, the pressure of being watched far too intently. His instincts had flared immediately and his body responded before thought fully caught up.

But there was nothing new to be seen.

The old woman still sat where she had been moments ago, her posture unchanged, her hands still moving with patience as she continued to knit. The red yarn looped and pulled beneath her fingers, needles clicking softly, her rhythm was still very much unbroken. She did not look up. Did not smile. Did not acknowledge him at all anymore.

The street behind her remained empty and quiet.

("Hm. Odd.") Grimm noted internally.

He lingered for a moment longer than necessary, scanning the space around her, listening for anything out of place. Nothing revealed itself. Eventually, he dismissed the feeling. If this so-called Black Forest truly led him somewhere more populated—somewhere that might offer answers—then it was his best option.

Aimless wandering was still wandering.

And at present, it was all he had.

It did not take long for him to leave the town behind. The decaying buildings thinned out as he moved westward, the crooked streets giving way to open land once more. Soon, the final structures fell behind him entirely, and he stepped back onto the plains.

The air felt different out here—less stale, but no less oppressive.

"She said west…" Grimm muttered to himself.

How far west, however, had never been specified.

With no better guidance to follow, he adjusted his stance. His knees bent slightly, his weight shifting. Then, in the next instant, he launched forward.

The burst of speed was violent.

The ground beneath him cracked under the sudden force, fissures spreading outward as dust and debris exploded skyward. His form surged across the plains in a blur, the air screaming as he cut through it. Grass flattened and tore away beneath him, the earth groaning as his passage carved scars into the land.

The world rushed past in streaks of color.

His course was completely straight. There seemed to be hardly anything in the plains. It was just a very flat expanse. He couldn't help but wonder why it seemed so lifeless.

("Hm, it's just like Vel'ryr...") He compared the two, the dried grass, the stale air. ("A result of siphoning mana and energy from the leylines to power magitech,") Grimm recited internally. He wondered if that was what was happening here.

If so, what was draining the leylines?

The thought couldn't properly surface as he spotted something.

("There.")

Even as he continued forward at tremendous speed, he had already spotted it. A dark mass on the horizon. He closed the distance rapidly, momentum finally bleeding off as he skidded to a halt. His sabatons dug deep into the soil, carving long furrows as dirt piled up around his feet.

And there it stood.

The forest.

Its trees towered impossibly high, their trunks thick and gnarled, rising upward before spreading outward in a tangled mess that blocked out what little light the sky offered. A dense mist clung between the trees, curling through the gaps, it even swallowed distance whole.

Even with his keen eyes, he could not see beyond the first few layers of trunks.

("Supernatural, perhaps?") Grimm thought. He glanced to either side. The forest stretched endlessly west and east alike, unbroken, its edge running far beyond what he could reasonably track. It did not thin, nor did it even waver. ("I could run for an hour and not see a change.")

When he turned back toward the forest's face, the sense of scale felt different, almost wrong. The mist seemed thicker now, the trees closer together, as though the space beyond the threshold refused to be measured properly.

Nowhere to go around it.

Nowhere to go back.

"Nowhere to go but forward," Grimm said quietly.

With that, he stepped into the Black Forest.

The mist swallowed him whole.

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