The battlefield should have gone quiet.
The Maw lay torn open, its mask shattered, its silver grin destroyed. Shards rained like broken stars, the ground trembling beneath Ren's feet. For a moment, he thought the fight was over—that he had carved his will deep enough to silence even hunger.
But then… the Pane began to move.
Not tremble. Not crack. Move.
The endless glass horizon rippled like liquid, its surfaces folding inward, collapsing into spirals that mirrored the Maw's teeth. Fragments fused together, reshaping into something organic, something alive. What had been an infinite battlefield was now bending toward Hunger's Face, as though the Pane itself sought to feed its wounded master.
The shard-winged girl gasped, her silver feathers flaring defensively. "No… it's consuming the Pane! It's rewriting the battlefield!"
Ren's breath hitched. His grip on the Thorn-blade tightened, sweat and blood dripping from his knuckles.
