The light below them grew to engulf all that was. It wasn't warm. It wasn't cold. It just was. Weightless. Soundless. Like a fall, only not moving.
Then there was a snap, like a string fraying. And they landed. It was soft beneath their feet — not dirt — not stone. Something in between. It was like treading on ash and satin; The sky overhead was red, streaked with veins of gold, pulsing languorously as though it were a living heart. There was no sun. No moon. Just that infinite sky on fire. Lucian looked around, sword half-drawn. "Where are we?"
Kael peered into the distance with narrowed eyes. "It's the inside of a mountain … but too big."
Serakha stood up slowly, dusting her arms. "We're in the mind of it now. The Sleeping One. This is not a place. It's… memory. Feeling."
Lucian kicked a pebble. It bounced, then became airborne, and floated upward. "That's not right."
"No," Serakha said. "Nothing here is."
