The Ranai Forest almost seems to press in on all sides, but your next push through the underbrush surprises you by offering less resistance than you expected. You land in a patch of strawberries on the shores of a massive lake that stretches out before you. At first you feel a sense of vertigo as the mirror-surface of the water perfectly reflects the expansive sky, interrupted only by the inverted image of the white tower standing guardian on the opposite bank.
Long red banners, like trails of blood, weep from the windows set near the tower's height. A unexpected and crisp wind suddenly rushes down from above, sending concentric circles across the lake, revealing the true grey color of the water in the diminishing waves.
Past the tower you see a field of inky black flowers, dotted here and there with an anomalous vibrant pink. On this side of the field, set low into the ground—and therefore almost escaping your notice—squats a long row of stone rooms with large barred gates for roofs. Nearby, a man with skin as white as salt and hair black as oil struggles in the grasp of a pair of swordsmen. The swordsmen unceremoniously throw him into one of the squat jail cells, slamming the gate and locking it after him. The swordsmen dust off their gloves, shake hands, and walk away into the field of black.
Beyond the field, the settlement itself awaits. Unlike most, it is not a simple collection of independent structures, but rather an interlocking complex of homes, businesses, and public spaces, all built into, from, or adjoining the natural verdure. In the center of this elaborate web, one tree in particular—tall, thick, and ancient—displays the windows of a five-storey inn. From the fourth of these storeys extends a bridge of living wood, reaching out to the middle of a neighboring tree where a general store perches among the higher branches.
