The Wistful Petal
The northern gate did not break; it dissolved, a catastrophic unraveling of steel and stone that turned the air into a thick, viscous grey sludge, and in that single, screaming instant, I watched Mara vanish into the shifting geometry of the Veil, her hand slipping from my grip not because she let go, but because the space between us became fluid, a localized anomaly where time dilates and...
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