The Black Mist was like ink, so thick it could not be dissolved, pressing heavily over the depths of the mountain ravine. Even the light seemed swallowed, leaving only a murky darkness.
This place was utterly different from the warmth beyond the mountains. A bone-piercing chill seeped through their pores and into their flesh, carrying the damp scent of rotting vegetation, yet deep within it lurked a faint, indescribable evil.
Like a ferocious beast lying dormant, it watched every living thing from the darkness.
On both sides of the ravine stood ancient trees that reached into the sky, their twisted branches interweaving like the claws and fangs of ghosts stretching toward the heavens.
The dense foliage blotted out the sky and sun, leaving even the sparse starlight unable to pierce through.
The ground was overgrown with weeds and tangled vines. The edges of some blades of grass bore an eerie bluish-black sheen, speckled with dew that had perhaps gathered for who knew how long.
When the droplets fell, they made faint sounds that rang especially clearly through the silent ravine.
A mountain stream wound down along the terrain, its waters murmuring. In the dark surroundings, the clear stream gave off a faint, cold glow.
The pebbles along the bank had been washed smooth and round, yet for some reason, the patch of land beside the stream was rare black soil.
That black soil seemed to have drained all life from its surroundings. Its color was black beyond black, and from up close came a heavy stench of decay, mingled with that faint trace of evil, making one shudder involuntarily.
Upon this eerie black soil, more than a dozen orchids stood quietly upright, growing in clustered bunches.
Their blossoms were extraordinarily peculiar—deep blue-black, stained through with a bewitching shade of purple.