Chapter 91 Weeping Wood

• The Weeping Wood defied description. Trees aged centuries in moments, their bark growing thick and gnarled before cracking and falling away to reveal fresh saplings beneath. Flowers bloomed and died in endless cycles, their petals creating a carpet of constant decay and renewal. The very air shimmered with temporal distortion, making it difficult to focus on any single point for more than a few seconds.
• But it was the sound that truly lived up to the name—a constant, low moan that seemed to come from the forest itself, as if the wood was mourning its fractured existence.
• "The magical resonance is off the charts," I murmured, studying the readings on the enchanted instruments I had brought from the capital. "The dimensional fabric isn't just damaged here—it's actively unraveling."