The northern reaches of the Wyrm’s March have fallen unnaturally silent. Miners and travelers speak of nights when the stars vanish, torches gutter out, and the dark presses so heavily that even thought and sound seem to disappear. Those who return from the region come back pale and trembling, with only fragments of memory: a sky without light, a windless road, and the sense that something vast was waiting just beyond sight.

The elders of Gath Tekul call it the Hollow Sky, and it is spreading. Each night, the stillness creeps closer to the village, swallowing echoes, smothering flame, and leaving the trade roads choked with rumors of a hole torn in the world. If no one uncovers what lies at the heart of the silence, the Wyrm’s March may soon be forgotten entirely.