The grey didn't end.
It mutated.
Lucifer noticed the change when the ground beneath his feet shifted from cracked earth to something else—something softer. He looked down. Sand. Grey sand, littered with fragments of colored glass that caught light from no visible source.
He picked one up.
Blue. Like the sky over New Earth, before Adam broke it.
Damaris stood beside him, his golden eyes scanning the horizon.
"The Shattered Coast."
Lucifer pocketed the glass.
"Doesn't look like a coast."
"It's not." Damaris pointed toward the distance. "Look closer."
Lucifer looked.
The horizon wasn't flat. It was jagged. Pieces of landscapes jutted at odd angles—a forest here, a mountain there, a crumbling city floating upside down above a frozen sea. They didn't blend together. They were glued. Forced together by something that didn't care about geography or logic.
"It's broken," Lucifer said.
