Treachery of The Land

Though he wasn't a fan of it, Bastian found himself following behind Sirius, alongside Zahal, who didn't seem to take his lips away from a cup of wine at any given moment. 

It felt to be around an hour of walking, with the scenery of the mysterious realm around him being that of a bleak forest faraway from sunlight; ashen trees, blades of grass that crumbled to dust from the slightest touch, only to immediately sprout again. 

A lifeless, yet tenacious biome; it seemed as though the mysterious floor was inhabited by countless, peculiar such territories. 

"How're you feeling?" The question came from the Invictus of Dionysus, who wiped his lips with his hand after a prolonged sip of nectar. 

Bastian looked down at his own body, patting his chest, still in surprise of how good he felt, "Perfect, honestly–better than that. That drink you gave me really did wonders. Thanks, by the way."

"Of course. That's why I'm here," Zahal replied with a wink.