The explosion wasn't a physical blast of heat and shrapnel; it was a psychic shockwave that levelled every Sovereign on the platform. The golden "static" the twins had introduced acted like a predatory virus, tearing through the sterile, silver harmony of the White Tower. Above us, the three rings in the sky—the very halo of the planet—began to stutter and crack. The white fire that had held the refugees in a trance turned into a rain of falling sparks, trailing through the atmosphere like the tears of a dying god.
Below in the valley, thousands of refugees gasped as the "peace" was ripped away. The vacant, blissful looks in their eyes vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming surge of memory, grief, and raw humanity. The unnatural silence of Aetheris was broken by a r
