The month-long barrage had become a rhythm of thunder.
Day and night, Dawnhaven's guns roared across the Ashlands, each shell arching in a fiery trail before hammering against Emberhold's barrier.
At first, the dome of Crucible light had flared defiantly, glowing with volcanic brilliance after every impact.
Mothers in Emberhold told their children the sound was fireworks, merchants swore Veltharion's flame was eternal.
But slowly, inevitably, the glow dimmed. The cracks spread.
On the thirty-first evening, as the sun bled down behind the volcano's rim, the rhythm changed.
The next barrage should have been another in the endless drumbeat. Instead, the barrier screamed.
A high, keening wail rolled across the city as fractures spidered outward like glass under strain.
Chunks of Crucible light splintered and fell, raining like embers across rooftops.
The streets broke into chaos.
