Gravity is a cruel master, but for those trapped in the silence of stone, it is a deafening roar.
As the central span of the Shattered Bridge disintegrated into dust, the Imperial Carriage began its thousand-foot descent into the Maw of the Serpent. Inside the tilting wood and silver-leaf, the world had become a chaotic blur of motion. Arkon was pressed against the ceiling, his fingers clawing for purchase against the granite slab, while Damon hung onto the rear wheel, his body whipped like a ragdoll by the gale of the fall.
At the center of it all, Kassian remained locked to the stone hands of the woman he loved. He didn't scream. He didn't pray. He simply braced his body over hers, his "Memory Flame" burning with a dying, iridescent violet light, trying to create a cushion of heat that he knew, deep down, wouldn't survive the impact.
