The air on Aetheris didn't just fill my lungs; it felt like it was cleaning my blood. It was sweet, heavy with oxygen, and carried a faint, crystalline chime—the sound of the wind moving through forests of trees whose leaves were literal shards of living silver.
I stood on the obsidian landing pad, my legs trembling from the final shunt. Behind me, the emerald light of the Bridge was slowly folding in on itself, a dying star that finally winked out. Thousands of refugees were stumbling onto the dark stone, their eyes wide, their breath hitching as they looked at a world that didn't smell like smoke or desperation.
Killian was instantly at my side, his human form crouched in a defensive stance, his eyes scanning the horizon. He didn't look at the beautiful, rolling hills of violet grass
