"The past is buried for a reason — which is precisely why I insist on digging it up."
"The gods speak softly in the presence of the dying — and I am their echo."
In the dripping heart of the Brackish Brineland’s oldest grove, where the canopy chokes out the sun, there lives a thing of twisted roots and cruel laughter.
Along the moonlit forest trails of the Verdant Weald, hunters speak of a flicker in the corner of the eye—a shimmer where something should be, then the sudden flash of claws.
Deep in the lightless heart of the Mangrove Marshlands, something stirs beneath the thick green water.
Above the windblown crags of the Shattered Coast, a shadow with three snarling faces sweeps across the rock. Maulwing the Threefold Terror has claimed the highest peaks as its killing grounds.
In the wind-scoured canyons of the Crestview Ridge highlands, the ground trembles before the sound of clanging hooves and the hiss of metal on stone.
"Every branch has a use, if you’re willing to listen while you shape it."
"Thread is time, darling. Pull it the wrong way, and everything unravels."
"If it’s locked, someone wanted it opened. They just didn’t know it yet."
"Not all fire destroys. Some fire remembers."
"A good bowl holds soup. A great one holds a story."