The air cracked with a tension so thick it felt like a live wire humming between Mikhailis and Thalatha. Roots shrieked as they tore away from the ravine walls, showering splinters the size of knives into the abyss. The bridge of bark and moss beneath their boots shook like a terrified animal—one heartbeat, steady; the next, a desperate quiver. A gust of fetid wind burst up from below, carrying the smell of hot sap and grave mold. It slapped their faces, drying the sweat that streaked dust across their skin.
Mikhailis's heart pounded in his throat, uneven and frantic. Every second, the chasm widened another hair, ripping through layers of soil and root with a sound like giant ribs being pried apart. Bits of dirt, moss, and sharp fragments of crystal ward-stone cascaded into the endless dark, vanishing before they struck anything solid.
