Ahce had believed, with the kind of conviction that lived in bone and blood, that she and Reichardt would outlive every enemy foolish enough to stand against them. She thought the world would break before they did.
Instead, belief snapped first.
One moment, the battlefield roared around her, a tangle of smoke and spellfire, of steel flashing and claws raking the air.
Next, the universe stopped breathing.
Bullets hung suspended mid-flight. Shrapnel froze like glitter trapped in amber. Even the wind halted, blades of grass locked in place. Her own heartbeat tried to follow but failed, trapped between beats.
Ahce couldn't fire. Couldn't scream. Couldn't even blink.
Time had abandoned them.
Then light arrived.
Not a flare. Not an explosion. Something older, hungrier. A catastrophic brilliance that rose over the horizon and devoured it whole.
It didn't burn. It ruptured.
