Sylvia's words that still echoed amid the bone-dust storm had not yet fully faded when the Primordial ground shook once more. This tremor was far deeper, far heavier as if the entire continent of tombs was drawing its final breath before unleashing a rage that had slept for thousands of years. The dust that had only just begun to settle shot high into the air again, forming gray vortices that blotted out the sky. The miasma wind, which normally only whispered, now raged like a living creature in fury, carrying the stench of ancient bones, dried blood, and earth that had decayed across countless eras.
