[ You follow the path through a forest long dead. ]

[ Out here, the air tastes bitter and caustic. The unnatural silence is occasionally punctuated by sounds: a distant, echoing crash of something crisp and wooden getting broken. A lonely groan from an inhuman throat. The intermittent scrape of dry leaves, disturbed by feet that skitter away before your circle of light can touch them. ]

[ As you walk, the path starts to climb up a slope, leading you through several switchbacks. The trees thin out, and the sky seems to lighten a few shades, like something up ahead is illuminating the very air. ]

[ You can see light glinting off boulders and tree trunks, guiding you forward like a beacon. ]

[ You have to scrabble over some rocks, picking your way upward. Then you look over a ridge and there it is:


—The ugliest city you’ve ever seen in your life. ]

[ The city is on the far side of a huge expanse of cobblestone — which, now that you’re looking at it, strongly resembles a parking lot. On this side of the lot, to your left, is a lookout where tourists could stop and take in the vast and devastatingly scenic darkness-filled canyon you just crawled out of. ]