The Ley Lines didn't just hold the realm together. They kept each plane in place.
The Fey Plane, where streams flow uphill and forests shift when no one's looking. The Shadow Plane — gray, static, eternal. The Planes of Fire, Earth, and Water. Of Chaos and Death, but also Light and Life. Separated by nothing but those invisible threads.
Deep in the Blackmoor forest, nymphs had guarded the boundaries since before empires had names. They felt the tremors, but could not stop it.
When the lines gave out, the planes bled into each other, like ink in water.
From the Shadow Plane seeped distorted silhouettes — moving as if reenacting events from another age, neither hostile nor benevolent, simply... present. What crept in from the lower planes... well, that was another matter entirely.
Through each breach, mana flooded in. Raw, vast, uncontrolled. The realm was saturated by this... dark gift. Those who learned to wield it gained untold powers. But such power has a way of drawing attention. Across the planes, ancient and hungry things were already watching. Already waiting...
