The storm broke at dawn—except it wasn't a storm.

Cain felt it before he heard it: a pressure ripple rolling across the world like a thrown stone skimming the surface of water. It hit his ribs first, then his spine, then the base of his skull, vibrating through every nerve as if someone was tapping an invisible tuning fork inside him.

He stopped walking.

Eira, who'd been half-dragging him along the mountain trail, nearly crashed into his back. "Don't freeze on me now. We're barely two ridges away from that death pit—"

Cain lifted a hand. "Listen."

Eira fell silent instantly.

The mountains groaned.

Not from shifting stone or natural erosion—this was deeper, wider, resonant, like the range itself was being pushed outward by something enormous beneath the crust. Birds burst from the trees below, panicked flocks scattering across the sky in every direction.

Then came the sound.

A tearing.

Reality being peeled open.

Eira swore under her breath. "It's moving."

"It found a new anchor," Cain said.

"And you think it's close?"

He didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Far beyond the next ridge, a pillar of gold light speared the sky—bright enough to burn through the cloud cover like a second sun. The light wasn't warm. It had the harsh, sharp-edged quality of metal scraping metal. Every instinct in Eira's body screamed at her to turn and run the opposite direction.

Cain didn't move, and that terrified her more than the light.

"Cain," she said carefully, "do not even think about walking toward that."

"I have to," he said.

"Like hell you do."

"It's calling me," he said, and the quiet honesty in that sentence knocked the wind out of her anger. He looked… strained. Pulled taut from the inside. "If I go the other way, it'll rip a wider hole to reach me."

"So your brilliant solution is to let it get close faster?"

"Controlled proximity is better than uncontrolled rupture."

She grabbed his arm. "Are you even hearing yourself?"

He met her glare head-on. "Do you want it manifesting in a city?"

That shut her up.

For a moment, only the wind spoke—carrying the metallic hum spreading across the mountain range.

"…Fine," she said. "We go. But we go smart."

Cain gave a faint nod.

They moved fast, following narrow switchbacks carved by miners decades ago. The terrain was rough, the stones loose underfoot. Eira adjusted her pacing to match Cain's; he wasn't stumbling anymore, but there was a stiffness in his movements, like the tether under his skin was pulling tauter with every step they took toward the pillar of light.

Halfway down the slope, the world changed again.

A second pillar flared to life—this one northwest of the first, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Eira stopped dead. "Two? Why are there two?!"

"There aren't," Cain said. But his voice had gone flat. "That's the anchor splitting."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning the Fallen can't manifest cleanly. It's trying to find a stable path and failing."

"Is that better or worse?"

"Worse."

"Of course it is," she muttered.

They kept moving. Faster.

The forest at the base of the mountain seemed quiet—too quiet. No birdsong. No insects. Not even wind. The trees felt… listening.

"Cain," Eira whispered, "is the air supposed to feel like this?"

"No."

"Like we're being watched?"

"Yes."

"That's fantastic. Just great."

The gold light flickered between the branches, staining everything in long, harsh shadows. Cain's hand hovered near the dagger strapped to his belt, though they both knew a simple blade wouldn't do much against a being that existed half outside of physical reality.

The hum in the air deepened, shifting into something like a voice speaking through broken glass.

Eira flinched. "What was that?"

"It's not speaking," Cain said. "It's feeling."

"Feeling what?"

He didn't answer.

Because the answer was obvious.

It was feeling him.

They moved into a clearing, and the ground trembled—not violently, but rhythmically, like a pulse. The first pillar of light was visible now through the trees, a swirling vortex of gold threads twisting upward. At its base, the air warped like heat haze.

Cain stepped forward.

Eira grabbed him. "Wait."

He turned, and she hated the look in his eyes—calm, resigned, resolved. Like he had already accepted whatever came next.

"You walk in there alone," she said, "and you won't come back out."

"I have to get close enough to sever the tether."

"Which you've already failed to do so far."

"This time is different."

"Why?"

"Because now I know where the pressure points are," he said. "When it tried to push through the canyon, it left gaps. Weaknesses."

"And if you're wrong?"

"I'm not."

She glared. "You're saying that like you believe it. Not like it's true."

Cain's jaw tightened—but he didn't deny it.

Eira exhaled sharply and drew her own blade. "Fine. I'm going with you."

"No," he said, sharp and immediate.

"Yes."

"You can't help in there."

"And you think you can?"

He hesitated.

That was all the opening she needed.

"I'm not leaving you," she said. "Not now. Not after all this."

The vortex flared—bright enough to bleach the world white for a second. The hum dropped into a deeper resonance that vibrated their teeth.

Cain clenched his fists. "Stay behind me. If it lashes out, do not try to block it."

"Wasn't planning to."

They stepped forward together.

The world shifted.

The ground under their feet felt softer, less solid, like walking on stretched canvas instead of earth. Gold ripples shimmered outward with every step Cain took, reacting to his presence. The air thickened, resisting Eira's movement while flowing around Cain like he belonged inside the distortion.

Eira tightened her grip on her blade. "Cain… the tether's pulling harder."

"I know."

"You need to slow down."

"If I slow down, it tightens."

She cursed under her breath.

The vortex base came into full view: a tear in space, edges jagged and glowing, the inside swirling with darkness and gold veins.

A shape moved within the tear.

Not fully formed. Not fully real.

A wing—massive and skeletal, feathers made of black glass—pressed against the inside of the rift as if feeling the barrier between worlds.

Eira's breath hitched. "Cain—"

The wing twitched.

Cain staggered.

The tether yanked.

Hard.

Cain dropped to one knee, clutching his chest as if something inside him was trying to claw its way out.

Eira lunged forward. "Cain!"

He grabbed her arm before she could reach him—iron grip, eyes burning gold at the edges.

"Don't touch me."

The voice wasn't entirely his.

And the rift widened.