The air shifted as the last fragments of the gate dissolved, leaving no passage, no return.
Jonan felt it in his marrow—the old world unmade behind him, a chapter turned not with violence, but with understanding.
Around them, the reshaping earth settled in quiet undulations, colors and forms continuing to bleed through the pale veil of what remained.
Each breath carried the taste of something unnamed, as though the land itself were exhaling after long-held confinement.
Kedes advanced a step, his spear lowered, though his fingers twitched with habitual caution.
"This place," he muttered, gaze sweeping the vast plain of forming structures, "it knows us."
Raerin followed his glance, his features carved in a mixture of awe and apprehension.
"Or remembers us," he said, running his palm across a pillar that shimmered like liquid stone.
The dusk-sphere in Jonan's chest pulsed once, and the entire plain responded with a ripple of light.
