The air at the Windwall shivered as Albedo stood before it, holding Havoc and Ruin, his coat fluttering in the wind that was trying to push him back. Ash whipped up in gritty sheets, pelting his legs, stinging his eyes.
He stepped forward into the windwall, and it didn't break like glass or anything similar, it just accepted him, pulling him inward like how water swallows a sinking stone.
For an instant, he saw shapes within the wall: jagged silhouettes writhing as if clawing at the other side. Hands, jaws, things without name. Then he was through.
The Hollowglass Ridge spread before him.
It was a wasteland of blackened glass and pale, bone-white protrusions that jutted from the earth like the ribs of some titanic carcass. The air here hissed with thin, needle-sharp currents that sliced at his exposed skin.
His first breath burned like inhaling ground obsidian; the next felt like it scraped along the inside of his throat.
The glass was warped into jagged ridges and hollows.
