Before cities rose and maps were drawn, four currents held the world together — Fire that warmed the first hearths, Water that carried memory down through rivers and generations, Earth that grew every root and sanctuary, and Air that gave all living things the freedom to move.

When those currents fall out of balance, a living fog rises. The world calls it the Veil. It drains colour, erases memory, and hollows out every creature it touches — twisting them into shadows of what they once were.

You are a wanderer. The lantern towns are shrinking. The shrines go dark one by one. Every run you take into the corrupted wilds is a single ember held against an endless dark — and the bards will record every word of it.