The volcano's roar faded as the world around Aleck shifted. The bubbling lava, the sulfur-scented air, even the stone under his feet—all of it unraveled like burning paper, melting into shadow.
Aranea's hand slipped from his grasp as a sudden pull yanked him downward.
"Aranea—!"
But his voice was swallowed by the dark.
He fell—not through space, but through memory. Heat gave way to cold. Fire to silence. He wasn't in the volcano anymore.
Aleck landed on his feet with a jolt, but when he looked around, he was alone.
There was nothing but darkness. The kind that felt heavy—like it had weight. The floor was smooth black obsidian, stretching endlessly in all directions. Above, no stars. No sky. Only a dull, golden glow far overhead, flickering like a dying sun behind a curtain.
Then came the sound.
A faint cry.
Weak. Muffled. Familiar.
