The Divide didn't open gracefully.
It tore.
A jagged rip peeled sideways across the collapsing sky, widening with a wet, tearing sound that didn't belong to any physical world. Light spilled out—unnatural, colorless, too bright to look at yet revealing nothing. It was as if someone had carved open a wound in existence and let whatever lay behind it bleed through.
Cain and his brother didn't slow.
They had no idea what was on the other side; they only knew the Divide was about to fold the entire realm into a single point, and being caught in that was an instant way to stop existing entirely.
The tear yawned wider.
Cain jumped first.
The world inverted.
There was no falling, no sensation of passing through space, no transition. Cain blinked—and he stood somewhere else entirely. His brother landed beside him a heartbeat later, stumbling as his feet hit solid ground.
Cain steadied him and scanned the surroundings.
This new place wasn't a realm, a forest, or a void.
