The world around him began to distort.
Colors bled into one another, shapes bent at impossible angles, and the fabric of reality itself seemed to ripple like water disturbed by a stone. It was as if Sylvaris was being drawn into a realm untouched by time—a place carved out by ancient beings whose names had long been forgotten, whose power still echoed through the weave of existence.
The air here was different. It was fresh. Pure. So pure, in fact, that each breath wrapped around his lungs like a silk ribbon laced with divine energy. Breathing in this place was effortless. Too effortless. Sylvaris's eyes widened slightly as he realized what had just happened.
His strength had surged.
Every cell in his body thrummed with power, amplified by at least fifty percent. He could feel it. His aura shimmered just beneath his skin, eager to be unleashed, his body humming like a blade newly sharpened and yearning for its first strike.
