The towering anomaly did not break its stride to investigate the hollowed-out tree. Aren paralyzed his own muscles, pressing his spine hard against the petrified wood, holding his breath as the terrifying, oppressive aura washed over the twisting Woods. The ground trembled with a deep, rhythmic vibration, a seismic heartbeat that resonated through the solid bedrock of the Wasteland. Whatever the entity was, its sheer atmospheric weight pinned Aren in place, completely silencing every insect and beast for miles in every direction. Slowly, agonizingly, the freezing pressure began to lift. The heavy, rhythmic vibrations faded, heading steadily westward, moving deeper into the forbidden, uncharted zones of the Wasteland. When the ambient temperature finally warmed enough for the frost on the dead leaves to melt, Aren allowed himself to exhale. His mutated heart was hammering a frantic, heavy rhythm against his newly calcified ribs. The memory fragment he had inherited from the cor