Beneath the volcanic ridge, the land was an unnatural emerald oasis.
Great trees stretched toward the heavens, their trunks filled with time, leaves fluttering with faint burning embers to their veins. The nearby volcano stood like a sleeping god, its caldera aglow with distant molten light—but the fire here did not rage.
It was tamed.
All because of a peculiar, sacred flora.
Vines coiled lazily around boulders and roots, glowing faintly red and gold—the Blazing Yin Lotusvine, a parasitic plant that fed on Fire Qi like bees on nectar.
It was this plant that made the area livable, even tranquil.
And below this ridge, three figures searched the undergrowth in solemn focus.
"Still no sign of the Dusk Orchid," one of the women murmured, her voice like silver bells in a cold breeze.
