Volatile Herb Garden is a luminous wetland patchwork—raised peat beds boxed in timber frames and overflowing with bright, bioluminescent blooms that burn like embers against the dark water.
Stormwatch Rise is a lone hump of higher ground in an expanse of marsh—an exposed peat mound crowned with wet grass and ringed by wind-bent reeds that hiss and bow under the weight of steady rain.
Sunken Vision Pool is a mirror-still bog hollow where the water lies unnaturally calm.
“Some places are meant to be crossed once—and never lightly.”
“The dead do not ask to be remembered. The living require it.”
“Every cure opens a door. I decide which ones stay shut.”
“Rain does not arrive late. It arrives after you fail to listen.”
“The marsh already knows what you’ll choose. It just hasn’t decided how to answer yet.”
A deceptively quiet wetland pocket: a murky, reed-ringed pond surrounded by worn footpaths and low stone outcrops, the kind of place that looks like nothing more than a hunter’s rest stop or an old animal wallow.
A drowned basin where the water turns deep green-black and the surface never sits still.
A slow-moving river train of flat-bottomed craft lashed side-by-side, their decks crowded with grain sacks, coils of rope, and the battered tools of working hands.
A drowned forest cut where the water turns ink-black and the shoreline collapses into slick mud and exposed roots.