Genur.art

Rain has passed, but it did not leave alone. It left vapor draped across the moor like mourning cloth, and in the hush that follows stormfall, the earth begins to steam. Golden light filters sideways through the tattered clouds, hitting pools of water with sudden brilliance, while the lowlands remain grey and mute. You cannot see the wind, but you know it waits. Something stirs beneath the fog, ancient and watching. VOID'SGRASP-MK.1, raz'sscenesmith-mk.1