Under a sky the color of bruised metal, Cain came to with the taste of dust and iron in his mouth.
For a long, stretched-thin second, he didn't move. He let the world settle into focus around him—the slow drift of ash through the air, the faint echo of something ancient withdrawing into silence, and the dull throb of pain threading every joint in his body. He was lying on stone that radiated heat like cooling magma, the aftermath of whatever force had torn the canyon open.
Only when he realized he was alone did he try to push himself upright.
A sharp bolt of agony shot down his spine, bright enough to blur his vision. He gritted his teeth and forced himself into a sitting position. His breath came shallow, but steady. Good. He was alive. Barely, but alive.
The seal's light had vanished. In its place was a raw wound in the earth—a chasm descending into shifting darkness. Even looking at it made his bones ache.
Footsteps skidded across the debris above him.
