The storm did not let up.
If anything, it grew worse.
Each step Kaito and Nyra took into the dying Fork only seemed to feed it. The storm gathered closer, pressing in on them from all sides, until it felt like a living thing stalking its prey.
The air shook with a low, restless growl, and the ground quivered beneath their feet.
Above them, the sky split apart again and again—jagged black cracks opening wide, only to stitch themselves back together with blinding flashes of light. It was as if the heavens were being ripped open and clumsily sewn shut by invisible hands, the world itself fighting to hold its shape.
The ground no longer obeyed form. It was rock one moment, broken and damp with ghost rain. The next, it was bone, pale and arching in ridges like ribs beneath their feet.
