The Scorching Badlands stretched endlessly before Arthur, a molten wasteland simmering under the weight of volcanic fumes and radiant heat. Waves of blistering air rippled across the land, warping the scenery as he made his way deeper into the heart of the Badlands, where the cracked ground glowed faintly with hidden rivers of lava.
The smell of sulfur clung to his scales as he lumbered over searing rocks, his claws leaving deep grooves in the charred earth. Scattered around him were remnants of something strange—objects embedded in hardened lava, rough and crude, yet oddly deliberate. Stone fragments and clay shards jutted from the ground, scorched black but not entirely destroyed. He eyed them warily, trying to make sense of these odd shapes and jagged structures. They looked like the skeletons of long-abandoned shelters or tools, as if something small had once attempted to carve out a home in this unyielding land.
