The hum faded.
The last of the spectral readings blinked into place across Jules's tablet, the sigils aligning in sequence like puzzle pieces locking into place. He let out a breath, his shoulders dropping.
"Alright," he said. "Confirmed. It's stabilizing at Class-6. Deep-rank variance, minor oscillation—but nothing above tolerance."
Ryn rubbed the back of his neck, still tense. "Still doesn't feel right."
Gellard finally lowered his scanner and exhaled through his nose. "Then maybe trust the gear instead of your gut, for once."
But the moment felt too clean. Too resolved.
And the sky agreed.
It began not with sound—but with absence. The wind dropped. The frostbitten air, which had gnawed at them relentlessly all night, suddenly fell still. A silence too complete. Too sudden.
Then—
KRACK.
A jagged bolt of lightning tore through the clouds above them. Not white. Not blue. Black.
