Auren slowly rose to his feet, his balance wavering as he cast a subtle glance toward the rigid glass beneath him—the dark surface of the night sky that somehow passed for ground.
He recoiled with a jolt, trembling as a crimson, hollow glow shimmered from deep within the glassy floor. It streaked upward, like a memory unraveling from beneath the scattered starlight trapped far below.
His breath trembled.
The light didn't feel real—yet it wasn't a dream either. It felt… ancient. Like echoes of something once lived. Like something trying to be remembered.
Auren's face paled. He couldn't tell if the lights were imprisoned memories, or if they were reaching up—trying to escape, or pull him down.
He didn't wait to find out.
His grip tightened around the sword in his hand as he turned his eyes forward and forced himself to breathe.
'Don't look down. Don't look down.'
The voice of his mind was a whisper in the silence, more command than plea.
