Orokhun breathed out. He was ready now.
It was only a small breath, no different from any other he had taken, and yet the planet shook beneath it. The tremor rolled out from the cavern and through the crust and up into the fog, and every layer of it turned over until it felt like the layers of the atmosphere might come undone, snapping open like a set of nesting dolls.
Then it stopped.
It looked like nothing at all had changed, and yet the flicker of light in Dry Mouth's gaze painted a completely different picture.
Orokhun rose through the stone, phasing through as though he was little more than a ghost. It felt like even the laws of earth and the physics that governed it had died along with the rest of the planet. It parted for him, severing its own bottom line, and a fog closed over his body as he came up into it.
He lifted his enormous head into the dead street to see what was left of Sylas Grimblade and yet…
