The Divide didn't open gracefully.

It tore.

A jagged rip peeled sideways across the collapsing sky, widening with a wet, tearing sound that didn't belong to any physical world. Light spilled out—unnatural, colorless, too bright to look at yet revealing nothing. It was as if someone had carved open a wound in existence and let whatever lay behind it bleed through.

Cain and his brother didn't slow.

They had no idea what was on the other side; they only knew the Divide was about to fold the entire realm into a single point, and being caught in that was an instant way to stop existing entirely.

The tear yawned wider.

Cain jumped first.

The world inverted.

There was no falling, no sensation of passing through space, no transition. Cain blinked—and he stood somewhere else entirely. His brother landed beside him a heartbeat later, stumbling as his feet hit solid ground.

Cain steadied him and scanned the surroundings.

This new place wasn't a realm, a forest, or a void.

It was a landscape built from contradictions.

Large stone monoliths floated weightlessly above a field of polished black glass. Not reflective—absorptive. The surface drank light, drank sound, drank the weight of his footsteps so completely that even walking felt like trespassing.

Above them, the sky was a pale white expanse without definition, neither bright nor dim. A void painted over with light.

Cain inhaled sharply.

Reality here felt thin—but not fragile. More like someone had intentionally stripped away every unnecessary detail until only the essential bones of existence remained.

His brother knelt and pressed a hand to the black surface.

"…Impossible," he murmured.

Cain tensed. "What now?"

"This isn't any known layer of the Divide." His brother's voice shrank to a whisper. "We shouldn't be here."

Cain frowned. "We didn't exactly have a menu of safe exits."

His brother didn't smile. "Listen carefully. This place isn't neutral."

Cain's grip tightened around the lantern. "Meaning?"

"Meaning everything here is deliberate."

He rose slowly, eyes fixed on a point in the distance.

Cain followed his gaze.

Far across the endless glass, faint silhouettes lined the horizon. Tall. Human in shape. Still. Not statues—shadows. Shadows standing upright against a world drenched in light.

Cain's jaw clenched. "Someone's watching."

"No," his brother whispered. "Something is remembering."

Cain shot him a look. "Speak normally."

His brother rubbed his temples. "This place is storing impressions—echoes—things that once existed but were erased. Not memories. More like… the footprints left by things that walked through reality before reality rejected them."

Cain stared at the lined silhouettes. "And they're human shapes?"

"Some are. Some aren't."

Cain shifted his stance, lantern held low but ready. "We're not staying here."

He took a step forward.

The glass beneath his foot rippled—quiet, smooth, like the surface of a lake disturbed by a stone.

Cain froze.

"Tell me that's normal."

"It's responding to weight," his brother murmured. "Or presence. Or—"

The ripple spread.

Not outward.

Inward.

Toward them.

Cain moved back.

The ripple followed.

His brother swallowed hard. "Cain. It's not reacting to you. It's identifying you."

Cain gritted his teeth. "I'm growing real tired of being 'identified' by places that shouldn't exist."

The ripple reached the base of the nearest floating monolith.

The monolith flickered.

Flickered again.

And then—without warning—it slammed into the glass ground, sending up a shockwave of force that didn't make a sound. The entire field shuddered.

Cain pulled his brother back just as another monolith dropped.

Then another.

Then another.

The monoliths weren't falling randomly.

They were forming a circle around the two of them.

A perfectly symmetrical ring.

Cain narrowed his eyes. "This doesn't look like a trap at all, nope."

His brother glared weakly. "Sarcasm isn't helping."

Cain raised the lantern.

Its flame burned brighter.

And the monoliths… paused.

Suspended midair. Not dropping. Not rising. Just waiting.

Cain exhaled. "This thing is starting to piss me off."

His brother stared at the flame. "It recognizes it."

Cain turned slowly. "Everything recognizes it. The forest. The seal. The Divide. You want to tell me what I'm holding yet?"

"If I knew," his brother said, "I would've told you days ago."

The monoliths shifted.

Their faces—slick black stone—glowed faintly, runes carving themselves into their surfaces as if etched by invisible hands.

Not random symbols.

Not runes Cain had seen before.

But patterns eerily similar to—

"Cain," his brother whispered, voice tight and trembling, "those are the same inscriptions used in Fallen constructs."

Cain swore under his breath. "Fantastic. So this place has something to do with them."

"No," his brother corrected, eyes widening. "Not 'has something to do with.' These markings predate their language. They're older."

Cain stepped back until his shoulders brushed the nearest monolith. "Older Fallen tech?"

"No. Fallen inspiration."

Cain blinked.

His brother swallowed.

"The Fallen didn't invent power. They imitated it."

The ground rippled again—this time violently enough to knock both of them off balance. Cain caught himself, bracing on the monolith beside him.

The moment his hand touched the stone, the runes flared.

His brother shouted, "Cain—don't let it—"

Too late.

A surge of energy blasted up Cain's arm—cold, precise, invasive. Not painful… but probing. Searching.

Like fingers rifling through a locked drawer.

Cain pulled back with a growl. "Get out of my head."

The monolith pulsed in response.

Not hostile.

Recognizing.

"Bearer."

The voice echoed across the entire field.

Not from one direction. Not from below. Not from the monoliths.

Every inch of the realm spoke at once.

Cain and his brother froze.

He whispered, "Not again."

This voice wasn't the same as before. The one beneath the seal had been ancient. Heavy.

This one felt… awake.

Present.

Focused.

"Bearer of the Lantern."

Cain raised the flame.

It didn't waver.

"Yeah?" Cain called out. "What do you want?"

Silence.

Then—

"Approach."

Cain stared at the distant silhouettes—the rows of standing shadows.

His brother grabbed his shoulder. "Cain. Don't."

Cain's jaw tightened. "We don't have the luxury of choosing safe options anymore."

His brother shook his head furiously. "You don't understand. Those shadows aren't entities. They're remnants. Fragments of things that shouldn't exist. If you approach—"

The realm pulsed again.

Harder.