At the western edge of the city, Alex's feet met a pale expanse of stone.
It stretched outward without feature or boundary, its surface smooth in a way that felt less worn than compressed. Light did not reflect cleanly from it. Instead, it diffused, sinking inward as if the stone were reluctant to give anything back.
When Alex shifted his weight, the ground responded a fraction too late.
He frowned and knelt, pressing his palm to the surface.
Beneath it—far below, or impossibly close—something dark glimmered.
Points of light.
Not reflections. Not veins of ore. They were too distant, too scattered, arranged with a familiarity that made his breath catch before his mind could name it.
He stood slowly.
Above him, the sky remained unchanged.
But at the edge of his vision, faint discolorations drifted across the darkness below—dull golds, deep reds—moving not in paths, but in slow, overlapping arcs, as if something vast were turning far out of sight.
Each step was firm, solid.
The ground dispersed under his feet.
Yet it always reemerged.
But what hadn't followed him was life— not even the smallest kind.
Alex grimaced; each step felt like it preceded a plummeting fall.
The western district was the opposite of the overgrown east. Yet it exuded a much more terrific pressure.
Alex hesitated.
The instinct to fly—to put distance between himself and whatever lay beneath—screamed through every nerve.
He reached for Ascension.
Wings began to manifest—
His feet clipped through the ground.
Not breaking it.
Passing through.
As if the stone had decided he no longer belonged on its surface.
Panic.
Alex stirred Aquila violently, the rune blazing hot as it propelled him back out, back up, back into solidity.
He landed hard, gasping.
The stone accepted him again.
Grudgingly.
— — —
Alex stood shakily, wings dissipating before they could fully form.
The west suffocated him.
Not air—there was air.
Not space—there was space.
Presence.
Crushing inward from all directions at once.
His heart ignited.
Muscle constricted.
Valves struggled.
Blood forcing itself through narrowing passages.
Then—
Sweet.
Hot.
Thick.
Alex coughed.
Blood spattered onto the pale stone.
It didn't pool.
It sank.
Absorbed instantly.
As if the ground had been waiting for it.
— — —
Alex staggered back, hand pressed to his mouth.
The bleeding stopped as quickly as it started.
But the wrongness remained.
His body understood what his mind refused:
This place rejected him.
Patiently.
The way an immune system identifies foreign matter.
Studying.
Isolating.
Preparing for removal.
Alex looked down at the stone where his blood had fallen.
The surface was unchanged.
Smooth.
Pale.
But beneath it—
The stars had shifted.
Closer.
Brighter.
Interested.
— — —
The Celestial Compass burned in his pocket.
Alex pulled it free, hands shaking.
The needle spun wildly—
Then stopped.
Pointing down.
Through the stone.
At the shape.
Then the needle reversed.
Pointing up.
At the sky.
Then down again.
Then up.
Oscillating.
Faster.
Faster.
Until the mechanism cracked.
The needle snapped.
The compass went dark.
— — —
Alex activated Tenebris hoping that he would feel less naked, less exposed by hiding his presence.
The stone cooperated.
The sky dimmed.
Alex's senses dulled.
No, they were being overwhelmed.
Soft Clicks emanated from everywhere
Followed by deep hums, penetrating his ears.
They grew, shattering his bones, forcing him to tremble.
Yet Alex persisted.
— — —