A Storm That Refused to Fall
The storm didn't move.
Clouds loomed over the valley, swollen with rain that would never fall. Forks of lightning cut through the sky, freezing mid-strike—tendrils of white-blue energy locked in place like cracks in a painted canvas.
Ethan stood at the edge of the distortion, his boots planted on a jagged outcrop overlooking the town below. Mia and Orion flanked him, their cloaks stirring in a wind that didn't reach the valley.
And below them…
The town repeated.
A bell tolled from the village square—deep and resonant. Then it tolled again. And again.
A woman walked along the cobbled streets, a basket of apples resting on her hip.
A child sprinted past her, his foot catching on a loose stone. He stumbled, arms flailing—his face scrunching in panic.
A merchant adjusted a row of glass bottles on his cart, wiping the same smudge from the same bottle with the same absent motion.
