The skies had turned red.
Not from the falling sun, or the scattered remnants of conflict—but from the very fabric of the Loom itself unraveling overhead, a tear ripped in the sky where the nothing flowed freely into the cosmos.
Kael remained motionless upon the broken spire of the Vault's ruins, his cloak rent and his eyes fixed on the seething scar in the sky. His breath was short, but not from terror. It was the burden of comprehension that all—everything, every sacrifice, every disobedience—had come to this.
"Elira." he whispered, but the wind stole the name from his lips before it issued.
Behind him, the body of Kyrra was no longer still. The destruction of the Shroud had not eliminated the Watchers' presence—it had merely broken the dam.
And so, what had been buried was rising.
