Keal blinked and the sky shifted.
One moment he stood alone on the ridge, the sea groaning below. The next, he was somewhere else entirely—a city of spires and light, strange and beautiful and wrong. It wasn’t the Fold, nor was it the world he remembered. It shimmered like a reflection half-finished, edges blurred by memory or time.
He stood in the middle of a crowded street, but no one saw him. No one turned their heads, no one whispered his name. They passed through him like mist.
Children played with arcane glyphs as toys, weaving light and sound in ways he’d never imagined. A school bell rang somewhere distant, and the lessons were being taught in tongues that had not existed when Keal had last walked the world freely.
He walked through alleys and courtyards, eyes wide with wonder
