Nestled in the center of a still-smoking crater deep within Wyrmhollow Wood, the phoenix egg radiated a gentle, pulsing heat. Roughly the size of a watermelon, its surface shimmered with hues of deep crimson, molten gold, and faint orange light that flickered just beneath its translucent shell—like embers caught in glass. Veins of glowing energy traced across its surface in rhythmic patterns, and the ground around it was scorched but undisturbed, as if the egg had descended from the heavens and landed without force. The air nearby felt charged, not with danger, but with the quiet promise of rebirth.