Wind stirs the blossoms—a realm of fleeting illusions. At the edge of Peachgrove Pass, wanderers gather, wande…
Wind stirs the blossoms—a realm of fleeting illusions.
At the edge of Peachgrove Pass, wanderers gather, wanderers fade. No names, no pasts, only the now.
Somewhere beneath the bloom, the Golden Peach sleeps. One player exits, the next steps in. For a taste of legend, every hand reveals its sharpest edge.