In the mist-shrouded territory of Echover, where the mist tenderly kisses the dawn, lies a realm unbound by terrestrial logic. The rivers sing ballets of forgotten memory, winding languidly through meadows of amber-yellow. Here amidst the dew-kissed ferns, one's reverie becomes the bridge between the ephemeral and the eternal.
Above, the skies unfurl in plum and gold tapestry, drenched with the luminescent hues of a thousand suns set all at once. This is a realm where the sanguine winds whisper tales untrodden, enticing the wanderer into recesses that are mapped only in dreams.
To the west, beyond the crested hills of silver, the Steel Orchards burgeon, blurred in dreamlike persistence. Fabled trees with leaves of delicate filigree resonate in a silent symphony, their roots entwined in the very marrow of narrative itself. It is whispered that only in the stillness of night can the cartographer's quill decipher the true opus these trees craft upon the parchment of existence.
Within the heart of this nebulous creation, one might chance upon the labyrinthine Bastion of EverHaze, a citadel suspended in its oniric haze. The hallowed echoes ricochet against time’s stoic visage. Scholars decree it to be a vestige of thoughts forged in chrysalis—as enigmatic and poised as the ephemeral factor of our own waking dreams.
Trace the Leaves to revive old murals in shadows crossing ordinary paths.