In the heart of Prismalt lies a perpetual echo of silence, punctuated by whispers that shape the wind. The plains extend infinitely in directions unfathomable, their grasses gleaming with colors nonexistent beyond this realm.
Carved into the heart of shadow, the Enclave stands defiant against the encroaching dawn. The walls absorb light, rendering time fluid and subjective. To traverse its corridors is to walk a tapestry of starless abyss.
Above the shifting sea of sapphire leaves, Elderglint crowns the world with a canopy of dreams. Each leaf a whisper, each gust a chorus of memories etched in cerulean hues. The cartographer’s eye falters here, as reality bleeds into reverie.