Here the air is hot and cloying, clinging to a desperate facsimile of solidity. Music is made in the gentle rush of birdsong and rainfall, the omnipresent rush of river water. A counterpoint is created in the damning silence of Heaven, a mute symphony that falls abandoned and echoing in all the spaces between.

Eden lies abandoned, pristine and unbroken - but the gods are absent. Their greatest work lies empty. The darkness thrives in their absence, and the light burns brighter to spite the memory of their rule. Here, the wilds rule, for the angels have turned their face from the memory of this abandoned paradise. The lovers steal away into the Labyrinth's darkest corners, in hopes that the tangle of teeth and tongue will go unnoticed, their sins unheeded amidst the merger of mist and moss.

Verdant green has overtaken the landscape. Ferns and foliage crawl from the corners, envious and wanton; they brush the bodies of passerby, and part reluctantly for those who brave the depths. Natural paths intersect and separate at irregular intervals, trails blazed and abandoned in a single breath. Bright jewels of color mar the singularity of hue, flashes of ruby and sapphire winging through the forest’s canopy. Both water and prey languish in ample abundance, hiding amongst the roots and branches of the overarching trees.

A heart beats in ready rhythm. Alone in the dark, it pounds - slowly, at first, and then more swiftly. Breath catches, pupils dilated. Panic coils close, thrumming a rapid pulse, seizing on the promise of forgotten hope, abandoned prayer. The temperature rises. Darkness falls.

Slowly, steadily, the veins of Cyrileth flow from the mountains to the sea. The waters are ever-moving, ever-changing, and in their journey carry blood both brackish and strange. Distinctive mangrove trees hunch over the serpentine rivers, pressed close and cloying to their fellows. The trees carve natural furrows in the landscape, and the shallow water flows between them obligingly. Flying buttresses arch over the surface of the too-still surface, roots both tangled and twisted. Young fish and crustaceans seek shelter in the shadow of the trees, but it is that which braves the deeper waters, and the higher reaches, that prevents any wolf from lingering overlong.

Serpents swim, and larger scaled specimens coil around the upper branches. Large, lethal felines stalk the shrouded depths. Monsters, armored and reptilian, lurk in the deep, emerging to warm themselves on the sunlit banks. Any and all creatures are fair game for these more devoted predators, and the night takes on a particular cadence of desperation.

Abandon Hope, All ye who enter here.

Here the waters flow away from the twisting labyrinth and into a secluded secret of northern Pyria. They twist around a small island, providing a serene moat that seems to protect the purity of the God and Goddess' fountain—for there in the center is a beautiful waterfall. Though not as tall and treacherous as Earth's Edge, the waters are a bright, tropical blue and the spray is refreshing and sweet.

Creeks and small rivers lead back into the moat and the sound of rushing water lulls the weary to sleep. Such is the Eden of Pyria, the wonderful and sacred home for the soul—or so sing the toucans and the paradise birds that flit about the trees.

Despite the danger that lurks plainly within Pyria, the Firefly Grove is an oddly peaceful place. The fireflies dance amidst thick patches of clover and moss. Thick evergreens give way to twisting oaks and maples, their glorious canopies providing dappled light to all that rests beneath their watchful eyes. A sweet scent fills the air, accumulating from the tropical flowers that bloom around the grove's edge.

Come evening, the grove sparkles with iridescent life. Fireflies flit to and fro, dazzling the eye and providing scope for the imagination.