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Only when they truly approached the island did they discover that enormous rain clouds shrouded it for hundreds of meters around. Even the "Sun" spirituality that roamed the Forsaken Land of the Gods never visited this place.
Amid the torrential rain and dim skies, even someone passing nearby would struggle to notice this island, let alone explore it.
"Splash... splash..."
Storm spirituality was unusually active in this region, where rain and thunderstorms had raged for two days. Perhaps the rain here had already been falling for a very, very long time before outsiders visited this land. It might even have continued without stopping since the Great Cataclysm of the Third Epoch.
Wind and rain filled everyone's ears.
Ever since they entered the curtain of rain, Agalito had forbidden prayers to the Lord of Storms in any language or form, lest they stir the spirituality and cause unnecessary changes. Since the Storm Pathway possessed some ability to dispel evil, the Death Announcer had kept demanding that the crew hang tarpaulins everywhere. The crew had shown extraordinary enthusiasm: if the hull's wooden structure was affected and warped, they would have to be used to repair it.
Amid the wind and rain, heaven and earth were dark, and the sea was as black as the sky.
The downpour blurred the distinction between sky and sea. Without lightning occasionally illuminating the heavens, the sailors, hallucinating from prolonged fear and stress, would probably have suspected that they had sunk into the ocean or fallen into the sky and were about to suffocate.
In the cabin, over a dozen people huddled around an oil lamp on the table. Their illuminated, ashen faces resembled sunflowers chasing sunlight, their eyes moving with the flickering, warm yellow flame.
A lantern hung beneath the eaves at the cabin entrance,