There was no falling.
One moment Zza was kneeling in the clearing, her claws sunk into the dirt. The next, the world folded inside out.
Light rippled under her shell, warm and cold and heavy all at once. The forest blurred, the sky disappeared, and her breath felt like it was coming from somewhere outside her own lungs.
Then the light settled.
She was standing.
Not on soil.
Not on roots.
On something that moved and breathed, like a floor made of memory.
The world around her looked like a forest drawn from a dream. Leaves floated without wind. Branches curved where there were no trees. Paths led everywhere and nowhere. The sky glowed faintly gold, the color of ichor and early morning light.
Zza looked down. Her claws were still her claws. Her shell was still her shell. But she felt something else layered over her thoughts—another rhythm, another presence.
Buzz.
She turned.
He was there.
Not flickering.
Not fading.
Standing.
