We emerged from the obsidian pyramid to find the canyon in a state of absolute, high-frequency alert. The atmosphere had shifted while we were inside the Forge of Memories. The air didn't just feel cold anymore; it felt pressurized, like the moments right before a massive tectonic shift. The Lithic-Wolves—those ancient, crystalline guardians who had just moments ago been still as statues—had shifted their positions. Their heads were all turned toward the narrow strip of sky visible between the canyon walls, their blue-flame eyes flickering with a frantic, staccato pulse.
I looked up, and my heart nearly stopped. The sandstorm had cleared, leaving the sky over the Red Wasteland unnaturally transparent, but the stars were no longer static dots of white light. They were moving, drifting lik
