The shattering was not loud.
There was no explosion, no scream of matter tearing itself apart. Instead, reality fractured the way glass does under impossible pressure—silently, delicately, with lines spreading faster than thought. The sky broke first, splintering into panes of darkness and silver light. The frozen battlefield followed, each shard drifting apart as though the world had decided gravity was optional.
East felt time slam back into his chest.
Air rushed into his lungs in a violent gasp. His seals reignited around his arms, flaring gold as instinct reclaimed control. Sun staggered beside him, coughing, flames sputtering back to life in ragged bursts.
West screamed.
Not aloud—his body could barely manage breath—but through the core itself. The sound reverberated inside East's bones, a keening vibration that rattled his teeth and made his vision blur. Frost erupted outward in violent waves, each pulse shattering another layer of the battlefield into floating fragments.
