The fragments stopped mid-movement, caught inside the sphere's locked physics like insects in amber—all four of them solid, all four of them subject to everything that solid meant in a space where the physics had been locked, the Dimensional Anchor holding them in the configuration of whatever they had been doing when the sphere reached them.
Nobody needed to be told.
"Wind Blade," Zeph said.
Not to anyone. To himself.
The ability left him like a decision that had already been made.
Fifty meters of compressed air moving through the Core chamber's dimensional-energy light at the speed of something that treated distance as a formality.
