The wind carried voices.
Not words, but emotions—memories, regrets, promises half-spoken and long recalled. As Kael and Elira followed the path of shimmering silver threads along the edge of the Rift's rebirth, the world's fabric grew thin, gauze stretched too tight over concealed wounds.
Every step deeper took them into a realm uncalled by cartographers. Trees grew in spirals, leaves translucent and glimmering with faint echoes of emotion. The ground pulsed gently, as though it breathed—alive and aware. And the sky overhead was starless, having only the drifting vestiges of forgotten realities, like slivers of glass in a slow whirlpool.
"I've never seen this place," Elira murmured, her voice hushed by instinct. "Not in any memory, dream, or flamewalk."
Kael scanned the horizon. "Because it wasn't meant to be seen. This is a boundary."
"A boundary between what?" she asked.
He hesitated. "Between what was… and what should never be."
