The beach had gone deathly quiet.
The fireworks were long spent, their smoke drifting in thin gray clouds. The waves kept rolling in, soft and steady, but even they sounded hushed now, like the ocean was holding its breath. Every face in the crowd was turned upward, mouths open, phones forgotten in trembling hands. The fairy lights from the villas flickered like they might go out any second.
Alaric raised his remaining hand slowly, palm up, fingers spread.
The air behind him tore open with a sound like ripping metal.
White light cracked the night sky in dozens—no, hundreds—of jagged lines. Portals ripped into existence, hanging in the air like broken windows to somewhere else. Inside each one was only pure black, and from that darkness came a low, hungry hum that made every hair on the beach stand up.
The temperature dropped hard and fast. Breath fogged in front of mouths. A chill wind swept across the sand, carrying the faint smell of iron and ash.
