The wheels of the wagon crunched on the dusty road as they left the last houses of Palewood behind them. Valentina turned around in her seat to catch one last glimpse of her home village. The familiar thatched roofs grew smaller and smaller until they finally disappeared around a bend.

  "Don't twist your neck," Vyxara mocked in her head. "This miserable pile of huts has never been a suitable home for you."

  Valentina just sighed and admired the astonishing splendor of the ducal carriage instead. The seats were upholstered in dark red velvet, the cushions in fine silk. Artfully carved wooden panels adorned the walls, and crystal decanters of wine and water clinked against fine glasses in the built-in cupboards.

  "Would you like something to drink, My Lady?" the coachman asked through the small window between the coach box and the interior. His tone was formal but friendly.

  "No, thank you," Valentina said automatically, then corrected herself. As the Duke's guest, she should probably behave accordingly. "Although – perhaps a little water?"

  "See, you're already learning," Vyxara commented amusedly.

  The driver – who had introduced himself as Gregor – skillfully handed her a glass through the window while steering the horses safely with his other hand. The water sloshed crystal clear in the fine glass.

  The landscape outside was still familiar to her – the rolling hills of Palewood where she had played as a child, the old oak trees along the road where she had often foraged for mushrooms. A light drizzle began to fall, and Valentina was grateful for the solid roof of the carriage. How often had she walked this path in the past, soaked to the skin?

  The Essence-powered lamps in the car provided a warm, even light. Valentina noticed the fine Essence patterns infused into the metal sockets – precise, efficient and of the highest quality. These lamps alone must have cost a fortune.

  "Forgive me for asking, My Lady," Gregor said through the window, "but is this your first journey in the ducal carriage?"

  Valentina blushed slightly. Was her admiration that obvious? "Yes," she admitted. "Is it that obvious?"

  Gregor laughed warmly. "Just a little. Most of His Grace's guests quickly get used to it. Although," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "after twenty years in the duke's service, I still sometimes admire the carvings."

  A sudden gust of wind caused the heavy brocade curtains at the windows to flutter. Valentina pulled one of the soft blankets over her knees. It was summer, but the temperature had dropped noticeably since they had left Palewood and driven into the woods.

  "The proximity to the Scorched Lands is already noticeable even here," Vyxara remarked. "The burning has changed the weather there forever. Fascinating, isn't it? How a single event can shape an entire land for centuries."

  A few hours later, the carriage crossed an old stone bridge whose arches spanned elegantly over a small river.

  "We're slowly approaching the heartland of Duskenshire, My Lady," Gregor informed her. "The road gets a little rougher from here. But don't worry – this wagon was built specifically for traveling through the Scorched Lands."

  Valentina nodded and leaned back into the soft cushions. She pulled one of the Essence Theory books she had brought with her from her travel bag – a gift from Crispin that he had given her before she left. But her thoughts kept wandering back to her family, to Thomas' tear-streaked little face as she said goodbye.

  "Don't fret, Valentina," said Vyxara, almost gently this time. "In a few days, he'll be as cheerful as ever."

  The carriage rolled further south as the rain became heavier and the familiar landscape of her childhood slowly gave way to other, stranger sights.

  ~

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  The landscape began to change imperceptibly. The familiar oak trees became rarer, replaced by gnarled trees with strangely twisted branches. The grass at the side of the path shimmered an unnatural shade of purple, and occasionally Valentina saw plants she had never seen before – large bushes with shiny metallic leaves and flowers whose blossoms looked like small hands.

  "We are approaching the Scorched Lands, My Lady," Gregor explained through the window. The rain had stopped, but the air was filled with a fine, greyish mist. "You'd best keep the curtains closed a little. Sometimes the wind stirs up strange dust."

  "The streams of Essence are... interesting here," Vyxara remarked. "Fascinating how it looks from this side. See the distortions? Like cracks in a mirror."

  Valentina nodded. The Essence patterns she perceived were indeed unusual – distorted and tangled, as if they were winding around invisible obstacles. She had never seen anything like it.

  "Forgive my curiosity," she said to Gregor, "but what exactly has happened here? I only heard about the Scorching of Duskenshire in passing at university."

  The driver was silent for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "It was well over a hundred years ago, My Lady. In the year 1263 After Martyrium. A demon – some say several – broke through into our world, the Martyr have mercy on me. Not like the usual minor manifestations that the Illumination usually brings under control quickly. This was something else."

  He held the reins with one hand while making a sweeping gesture with the other. "The demon took control of thousands and thousands of goblins. Organized them into veritable armies. Within a few weeks, dozens of villages were destroyed. Duke Arminio Greystone – the great-grandfather of our current Duke – mobilized everything he had, but it wasn't enough."

  Valentina leaned forward, fascinated despite the gloomy subject – or perhaps because of it. "What happened then?"

  "The Scorchbishop of Vandercourt called for a Scorchmarch. The largest force Sommerland had ever seen gathered here. Noble armies from all over the realm, the Emberwarden, the Illumination, dozens of the most powerful Essence Weavers. They fought for a year."

  The wagon crossed a dilapidated stone bridge. Below them flowed a stream whose water had a strange metallic sheen, like mercury.

  "In the end," Gregor continued, "a council of Master Weavers managed to push back the demon. But the rift between the realms – they couldn't close it properly. So..." He paused. "So they burned it shut. Like you would burn out a festering wound. With fire so hot it scorched reality itself, they say. Hence the name – the Scorching."

  "A highly simplified version of events, of course," Vyxara commented with amusement. "The man is only a driver, after all. The reality was much more exciting."

  "What do you mean?" Valentina thought back, but the demon didn't answer.

  The landscape became increasingly strange. Crystalline formations now grew between the twisted trees, shimmering in the diffuse light. The mist had thickened and seemed to develop a life of its own – it moved in strange patterns that seemed to contradict all the laws of Essence – the laws of physics anyway. It reminded Valentina strongly of the corrupted Essence and the illusions created by the Eye of Deceit.

  "The Essence patterns here are so distorted," Valentina muttered more to herself.

  "Aye," Gregor nodded. "The Master Weavers say the Scorching damaged the fabric of the Essence itself all over the area. That's why hardly anything normal grows here anymore. Just these strange plants." He pointed to a bush whose leaves looked like thin copper. "Some people collect them and sell them in the city – supposedly they have special properties. But I wouldn't touch them."

  They passed the ruins of a village. The stone foundation walls were still standing, but they were overgrown with a strange, shiny metallic moss. There were strangely shaped stones on the ground, with almost human proportions. Valentina thought she saw movement in the shadows, but when she looked closer, there was nothing there.

  "Does anyone else live in this area?" she asked.

  "Only the desperate and the mad, My Lady," Gregor replied grimly. "And the goblins, of course. They thrive here. But they are regularly decimated."

  A sudden gust of wind shook the carriage. The fog swirled up and for a moment Valentina thought she saw a wall of eyes staring at her. Startled, she drew the curtains tighter.

  "The Essence isn't the only thing that's been damaged here," Vyxara remarked thoughtfully. "The barrier between the realms here is thin. So thin that sometimes... Things show through."

  The next few hours passed in awkward silence. The Essence lamps in the car provided a calming light, but Valentina couldn't help but keep peeking outside through a gap in the curtains. The landscape became increasingly bizarre. Trees with leaves made of molten glass. Crevices in the rocks from which strange lights pulsed. Crystal formations that looked like frozen screams.

  The grey fog had thickened into a kind of permanent twilight. Sometimes Valentina thought she could see shadows in it, moving against the wind. At one point, she even thought she heard a high, wailing sound, but Gregor didn't react at all, as if he hadn't noticed anything.

  "The Scorching has left scars," said Vyxara. "Not just in the landscape. In reality itself. What you see are the echoes of what happened here. The screams of the burned. The last moments of the dying. The despair of the survivors."

  "That almost sounds like you were there," Valentina thought back.

  "Oh, not me personally," the demon replied, amused. "This one was Zerxoris. But I know the story. The true story. Countless memories. Quite exquisite memories."

  Before Valentina could ask, Gregor called out, "Look, My Lady! The first glimpse of Dusktown!"