The Australian Outback was screaming. Not in sound, but in sensation. The very air above Uluru writhed, a visible, sickly distortion against the blazing blue sky. It was a wound in the world, a patch of reality where Lysander's will was actively unpicking the threads of the Weave. The ground beneath the feet of the five Keepers trembled, not from seismic activity, but from the strain of existence itself.
Miriam stood at the heart of the glowing, five-pointed star etched into the rock, her bare feet planted firmly, her face a mask of concentration and pain. The other four Keepers were positioned at their respective points, their elements flaring against the encroaching dissonance.
