The air tasted of burnt parchment. Liam led the way, the book clutched to his chest like a failing heart. Around them, the land refused to settle—dunes of ash dissolved into glassy rivers, forests of bone-white trees sprouted and withered in seconds, their branches clawing at a sky streaked with bleeding constellations.
"It's unraveling faster," Elena said, her voice swallowed by the wind. She held her flame aloft, its light warping as if refracted through water. "The closer we get to the Source, the less *real* this world becomes."
Finn kicked a stone, which split into a swarm of ink-black beetles before hitting the ground. "Real's overrated. Just point me at something to stab."
