The Shard of the Broken Mirror did not have an atmosphere so much as it had a "refraction." As The Echo of Wood crossed the threshold, the view through the cockpit didn't just change; it multiplied. Han saw the ship as a majestic galleon, then a rusted bucket of bolts, then a series of abstract wooden lines, all simultaneously.
"Don't look directly at the horizon," Vahn warned, his voice oscillating through several octaves. "The visual data is decoherent. This Shard has lost its 'Objective Consensus.' Every consciousness here is broadcasting its own version of reality, and the physical world is trying to accommodate all of them at once."
Han blinked, trying to clear his vision. His new ink-violet tattoos thrummed against his skin—a cold, grounding pulse that seemed to anchor him. While t
