The cavern shouted, not just fell apart.

Each pillar and ivory rib trembled and fractured, tumbling into the fury of swirling bone and darkness outside. What had been barriers was now nothing but emptiness: a cyclone of death, the Gate's storm itself awoke with rage.

As rib-like shards ripped past them, screeching like arrows through the air, Draven's form coiled protectively over Elaria. As the ground swayed beneath them, his claws sunk into the bone floor to keep them both anchored.

With ...