The sky above Aethelgard did not merely change; it hemorrhaged. The morning light, once warm and predictable, began to fracture as if the medium through which it traveled had turned to cracked glass.
The atmosphere took on a sickly, unnatural quality, a visual distortion that signaled reality was no longer operating under standard physical parameters. The air itself felt viscous, resisting movement like invisible oil.
Through the lens of [Divine Perception], the true horror of the sky was laid bare. Rex didn't just see clouds and sunlight; he saw the amber gold signature of Kaeleth's divine authority tearing through the firmament.
It wasn't the god himself, but a stolen fire—the specific, blasphemous investment of divine temporal power channeled into a mortal vessel.
