The storm drew closer.
It wasn't louder, and it didn't really change shape—but its weight was different. Before, it had stretched endlessly across the Fork, without a clear beginning or end.
Now, it seemed to fold inward, pulling everything toward one hidden point, like a whirlpool in the air itself.
Kaito felt it in his skin, as though unseen hands pressed against him and Nyra, forcing them to keep walking.
He staggered under the weight of the scythe. Every step seemed harder than the last. The Dominion's fire still burned in his veins, leaving him restless and raw.
The Root's hunger gnawed at his ribs like a beast that refused to die. And the fragments of the paths he had not chosen screamed inside his head, clawing at his thoughts with voices that did not belong to him. Each breath came like glass ready to splinter, fragile and sharp, threatening to break apart at any moment.
