Everything did not simply calm down. It paused like a breath held too long. The page hung above the band.
The orchards kept their apples in the air at the same angle. A drop of light that had leapt from a river to a leaf hung there and waited without falling.
Roots that had been charging forward stopped mid-surge, the veins in them glowing but unmoving.
Illusions froze where they had been cutting, broken mirrors suspended without a sound. The arena stood like a picture, as if someone had stopped between frames.
The pressure that had pulled the seal tight did not vanish. It changed shape, turning from a push into a presence.
They arrived without footsteps. The space did not crack to let them through. It made room the way water makes room for a ship that belongs on it.
The succubus Matron stepped out of the still air first. Her hair ran down her back like a river of night with stars caught in it.
