I woke to the sound of laughter—faint, easy, like the world was in on a joke I'd missed. The ache in my head had dulled to a background hum, but there was still a ghost of Destruction's punch ringing behind my eyes. My body tensed as I shot upright, heart racing.
Canvas fluttered overhead.
Wait... where the heck am I?
The air was warm. Smoky. I was on a cot—one of those collapsible camping types that creaked if you breathed too hard. My backpack sat beside it, buckled and tucked neatly like someone had made sure it didn't wander off. Not a scratch on it.
Then I felt it—something smooth and solid clutched in my hand.
I looked down.
Clear as glass. Cold as memory. And unmistakably not something you'd find in your average camping trip.
The fragment.
Its shape caught the flicker of the tent's hanging lantern, refracting the light like some kind of crystallized paradox. I stared at it for a second too long before the urgency punched through the awe.
