The first tremor came with the dawn.
Eryndor woke to the sound of the earth groaning — a deep, rumbling note that seemed to echo through the bones of the world. The ground beneath the camp quivered, sending ripples across the stream beside them.
He was on his feet in an instant, sword drawn, eyes scanning the horizon.
The forest beyond their sanctuary no longer looked the same. Trees bent at impossible angles, their leaves glimmering faintly with silver veins. The air shimmered as though reality itself were fraying.
Zephyr appeared beside him, the wind swirling nervously around his hands. “Something’s wrong,” he said, his voice tight. “The currents are twisted. It’s like the air doesn’t know which way to move anymore.”
Lyra stirred from her watch post, eyes sharp even in the dim light
