The fall had no wind. No rush of air against their faces, no sense of gravity dragging them down. It was as if the ground had vanished beneath their feet and the world itself had forgotten what direction meant. Kael's stomach lurched, not from speed, but from the absence of it. The blackness swallowed him whole, and though his eyes strained, there was no bottom, no top, no horizon to hold onto.
Aila's hand clung to his sleeve, her grip the only anchor in the void. He didn't know if they were still beside the others, but he could hear voices—muffled, warped as though spoken underwater.
"Kael!" Oran's voice, distant but near, echoing like it came from inside his own chest.
"I'm here!" Kael shouted back, though he couldn't hear his own voice properly. It sounded stripped of weight, hollow.
Then came Saen's frightened whisper: "This isn't falling. We're being pulled."
