The sun had barely risen in Vollua's pale sky. A golden veil still bathed the foliage of the giant trees, and the gentle stillness of the morning enveloped the sylvan village in a reassuring calm. In the training clearing, Foster and Orëlas faced each other with swords, their training blades clashing in a steady rhythm.
- Watch your hip, it's too open," Foster corrected, pivoting to the side to dodge a telegraphed attack.
- I'm trying," breathed Orëlas, breathless. You're going too fast.
Foster smirked, ready to retaliate, when suddenly...
The ground shook.
Not just a vibration.
A deep rumble, as if Lyréanor's very heart had just beaten.
The trees shuddered. The leaves froze. The air became thick, almost tangible. Birds stopped singing, insects stopped buzzing. A dense, heavy silence pervaded Vollua.
Then, a heavy sound. A slow... breathing.
Like a living mountain.
Fwooooohhh...
