The world was simultaneously freezing and burning.
Elira perched on the shattered rim of the Crucible, shaking arms, Voidlight dancing over her fingers like uncontrolled fireflies. She was not able to move—not really. Not when Kael dangled over the shattered veil, suspended by chains of ancient silver and coils of obsidian fire that writhed like living serpents. His scream did not issue from his mouth, but from the region between worlds, vibrating within her bones.
"Kael!" she choked, but the call was swallowed by the storm of unmaking magic.
Below them, the pillars of the Crucible shattered individually, the glyphs etched into their faces peeling away like skin, floating into the air as incandescent sigils. The world responded to Kael's breaking—no, to his awakening—and something ancient stirred on the other side of the veil.
The Watcher no longer stood watch.
He climbed.
