On the other end, unlike Alaric and the others, Alfred's journey was completely devoid of people
Reaching the border of the eastern wastelands, despite it being his second time here, he still sighed at the sight in front of him
The border itself seemed to be a scar on the world, a constant reminder of the bloodshed and death that took place there.
To the west, the grass of the continent was lush and green, swaying in a gentle breeze. To the east, the world simply... died.
The green stopped abruptly, replaced by an endless ocean of grey ash and jagged rock. The sky above the Wastelands was a perpetual bruise of swirling charcoal clouds that blocked the sun.
It was hard to believe that such a place existed, separate from the outside world. A scene that only made you wonder, just what kind of battle took place here that changed the geography permanently
ZZZT.
Space distorted at the very edge of the grass. A vertical slit of violet light tore open the air.
Alfred stepped out.
