The faint shimmer of sunlight poured through the thick canopy as Raven emerged from the Vault of the Rootbound. The dungeon's twisted roots and spectral shadows gave way to the open calm of a lush meadow, painted in late-afternoon gold.
An hour had passed, but it felt like no time at all. The world outside hadn't waited.
He took a breath.
The air was fresh. Too fresh.
The scent of grass and wildflowers filled his lungs—but it was wrong. Too clean. Too innocent. His body, tuned to the Vault's endless danger, didn't trust it.
Birdsong trilled somewhere in the distance, high and carefree. Insects buzzed lazily between golden shafts of light that pierced the open meadow. A soft breeze stirred the tall grass, rippling like the surface of a still pond.
Before he could even start moving, a figure waved from a few meters away. A player—female, dressed in a flowing dark robe with a wilted staff slung over her back. Necromancer type.
"Hallo! Kom je net uit de kerker?"
