As winter’s grip finally loosens, the thaw brings no peace to Malith’s Edge.

The snows melt back to reveal a land scarred by fear and blood. Trif has spread unchecked through the wilds, twisting the frontier into something more desperate, more dangerous. Excavators and pathfinders return battered, when they return at all, telling of Xitan insect hordes surging from hidden places, not in blind frenzy, but with purpose. With intent. As though they are hunting.

Yet they are not the only ones moving in the shadows.

The Dominion has dispatched expeditions of its own into the region, pressing ever deeper into the chaos in search of something, or someone, worth risking men and steel alike. Whatever prize lies buried beneath Malith’s Edge, enough powers have caught its scent to turn the frontier into a battlefield before the first banners are even raised.

And above it all, the skies themselves have turned treacherous.

Mysterious elemental storms sweep across the land without warning, walls of fire, screaming winds, shattered ice, and crackling ruin, leaving wreckage and unanswered questions in their wake. No scholar has yet explained them. No scout has tracked their pattern. They come, they devastate, and they vanish, as if the world itself is breaking open.

The thaw has come.
But spring will not bring renewal.