I opened my eyes to a world that made no sense.
The sky was cracked.
And I mean literally.
It was broken like glass, fractured lines running through the troposphere as if the heavens themselves had been shattered by something— or someone.
And from behind that broken sky… a red moon bled.
It didn't glow.
It leaked.
Thick crimson light poured from its edges like slow-moving sap, spilling down onto the world below like blood dripping from a wound that would never heal.
I gazed down.
In front of me was a lake.
A silver lake, its water still — so still that it didn't ripple even when a titanic hand, pale as snow, broke the lake's surface and reached toward the bleeding moon above.
The hand was long and slender, fingers like bone carved from milkstone. It trembled. It grasped. But the moon never came closer.
I didn't speak. I didn't even move.
I just… watched.
And then the world changed.
