Thee Bridge was still vibrating from the shock of the Mirror City’s collapse when the silver rift began to churn with a muddy, suffocating gray. It wasn't the clean violet of the 99th Earth or the healthy green of Jiangnan. It was the color of old smoke and forgotten graves. As Xin stood at the center of the platform, his amber eyes narrowing, a figure tumbled out of the mist and crashed onto the white wood.
It was a man, but barely. He wore a tattered worker’s jumpsuit identical to the one Xin had worn five years ago, but it was scorched and blackened. His skin was mapped with silver scars, just like Xin’s, but they weren't glowing—they were leaking a dark, oily fluid that hissed when it touched the Bridge.
"Help... me," the man rasped, his voice sounding like two stones grinding toge
