THE FRACTURE LINE
Morning came without ceremony.
No omen. No lingering silver light. Just the ordinary spill of dawn across Nightfall’s rooftops and the distant sound of training steel striking wood.
But the clearing still bore the mark.
Elara stood at its edge, arms folded against the chill, and studied the fractured circle where Ravik’s ritual had ignited and broken apart. The meditation stones lay scattered several feet from where they’d once formed a precise ring. The earth between them was cracked in thin, branching lines — not scorched, not burned. Just split.
As if something had pushed upward from beneath.
Warriors moved quietly around the perimeter, examining the ground, speaking in low tones. No one said the word containment aloud. No one needed to.
Elara stepped forward a
