Time waited for nobody.
It drifted onward at uneven speeds, bound to one's perception. Yesterday became a memory, while tomorrow remained a distant haze untouched by the present.
How quickly time had flown by.
Seven years.
That was how much time had passed since the destruction of the Holy City.
Seven years was fleeting, little more than a passing memory to those ancient monsters who had lived for centuries. Yet to Damon, seven years still felt like a very long time.
A lot had happened during those years.
And yet, strangely enough, they had also been peaceful.
The world was still at war, but the conflicts had slowed considerably. Only scattered skirmishes remained, most of them fought against the Whispering Forest.
The land itself had changed.
Entire regions had been reshaped, while the once endless forest had been reduced little by little.
They were not far from Lysithara now.
