The bone field stretched endlessly beneath a sky that did not exist.
There was no sun. No clouds. No horizon in the true sense of the word. Only a pale, suffocating expanse above and an even paler wasteland below, where the ground had long since forgotten what it meant to bear life. Every step crushed fine fragments of bone beneath boot and foot, releasing faint clouds of powder that lingered too long in the air, as though even the wind had grown tired of moving.
Across this desolation, a force advanced.
Over a thousand survivors moved as one, their formation uneven but purposeful, driven forward not by command but by necessity. At the front of this mass were two figures who did not hesitate, did not falter, and did not look back.
Arthur moved first.
