An Isekai Story

They rise like broken teeth from the earth—lean, weather-pitted stones etched with runes so old they predate the spoken word. Locals call them the Shadow’s Bones, and their origins are anyone’s guess. Some say they’re the ribs of a forgotten god. Others whisper they’re anchor-stones holding back something older than magic. The air here tastes like lightning, and time seems to stutter when you linger too long. Wind coils through the stones, carrying ghost-voices and half-formed prophecies that vanish before they're fully heard. Mages from Aerthos fear the place, claiming its power bends reality’s spine, while thrill-seeking adventurers camp here for the strange dreams it offers. Lights flicker where no torch burns. Shadows move against the grain of the sun. And every so often, something answers when you speak aloud—something that wasn't waiting for you, but noticed you anyway.

The field is scattered with towering monoliths of cracked black stone, each veined with glowing runes that pulse like slow heartbeats. The ground is parched and uneven, stained with patches of moss that shimmer in moonlight. Pale mist clings to the base of the stones, rising in tendrils that swirl against the wind. Above, the sky always seems darker than it should be, as though the stars themselves lean away from this place.