The air is thick with the acrid sting of smoke. A haze drifts low through the trees, carrying the charred scent of pine and the faint iron tang of something fouler. The forest floor crunches beneath your boots, every step stirring embers hidden in the blackened leaves.
From the shadows, a figure stumbles forward—a ranger, his cloak scorched, his skin streaked with soot and ash. His breath rattles as though fire itself has lodged in his lungs. He drops to one knee before you, gripping the earth to steady himself.
“Gods above…” he coughs, his voice hoarse. “It’s coming. The forest burns… and not by mortal hand.” His eyes, red-rimmed and desperate, flick toward the distant treeline where plumes of smoke twist upward like black fingers against the sky.
He seizes your wrist with surprising strength, smearing ash across your skin.
“Go,” he rasps. “You must see for yourself. The fire spreads with a will. Something wakes in the heart of it.”
His grip falters, and he collapses fully, motionless save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
The forest trembles as the distant crackle of flames grows louder, mingling with the eerie cries of beasts driven from their dens. The path ahead is clear—though it leads into ruin.
[Proceed through the next three encounters before you can continue]