The borderlands of Rugarda Forest did not resemble anything a sane cartographer would mark on a map.
Here, the towering ancient trees curved unnaturally, their bark scarred with claw marks large enough to bisect an ox.
The ground trembled occasionally—soft, rhythmic pulses—as if something enormous breathed beneath the soil.
And scattered across these woods were cages.
Iron cages.
Some were suspended from trees like grotesque ornaments.
Some were embedded in the ground like traps.
Some were arranged in pits where the stench of blood never fully faded.
And inside them were humans.
Half-starved, bruised, terrified humans.
They were not prisoners of war.
They were not laborers.
They were livestock.
Because, unlike Veldera City, a region where demihumans suffered under human rule, here, the balance flipped.
Here, beasts ruled.
Here, the humans were the ones who hid their ears.
The ones who trembled.
The ones who prayed.
