Bairan's eyes remained fixed ahead, his face carved from stone. The young soldier's words might as well have been wind whistling through empty branches—they left no mark on him.
The soldier had already raised his trembling hand, light bleeding from his fingertips as he carved a rune of light into the air. Sweat beaded his forehead, mixing with the steady trickle of blood seeping from his nose. Each movement looked like he was trying to lift a mountain with his bare hands.
Above them, reality tore apart. A shimmering blue wound opened behind the demented soldier, its edges spreading like a ripple in still water. The earth itself seemed to hold its breath as something vast began to emerge from within.
Bairan's eyes became slits.
