The world had stopped breathing.

Not paused. Not frozen.

Stopped.

As if it had finally grown weary of pretending to be real.

Elaria stood in the hollow place where the Vale used to exist, though nothing around her remembered the name Vale anymore. The ground beneath her feet rippled in slow, liquid convulsions—glass, soil, memory, and shadow all churning together as if stirred by a hand too large to imagine.

Above her, the sky pulsed.

Not with light.

With thought.

She felt its awareness ...