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Summary
Zyra looked wistfully at the ruined remnants of the Crystal Rose at her feet. It was dying right before her, but she couldn’t let that happen. The Withered Rose had crashed their recent festival in full force, attacking with reckless abandon, infecting it with a toxic, foul magic.
“It will flourish again,” she sighed. Of this she was certain. “But I’m afraid I will be missing a crucial piece of the equation.” The Crystal Rose was not self-pollinating, and Zyra, so far away from home, did not have the means to help the rose bloom on her own.
“Very well Swain,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll have you pack your bags and set out with haste. You’re travelling to the jungles of Ixtal.
Series
- Part 2 of Swain Skin Line Stories
