The night had teeth.
It gnawed at the edges of the ruined valley where Kael and Lyria stood, its darkness thicker than shadow, heavier than mist. The sky above them churned in slow, violent spirals, as though the heavens themselves were struggling to breathe after what had been torn open. Faint silver veins cracked through the clouds — not lightning, but something older, something watching.
Lyria shivered despite the lingering warmth of Kael's fire coiled around her heart.
"Something's coming," she murmured.
Kael didn't answer at first. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon where the last comet had vanished. The wind tugged at his coat, sweeping silver hair across his forehead. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured, and utterly calm in a way that made Lyria's pulse hitch.
"It's not something, Lyria."
His hand tightened around hers.
"It's them."
