Light consumed everything.
For a moment, Aria believed she had died. The pressure in her chest had vanished, the air was gone, and silence pressed so hard against her ears she could hear her own heartbeat — faint, uncertain, distant. Then the light dimmed. Slowly, shapes began to bleed through the blinding white, forming a horizon of shifting glass and mist.
The Rift was no longer chaos. It had become alive.
Its floor shimmered like water frozen mid–wave, and in its reflection, she saw herself — not as she was, but as something becoming. Her eyes burned gold, her veins etched in light. The marks crawling across her skin pulsed like constellations, moving in rhythm with a force older than her blood.
When she breathed, the world responded.
The ground trembled beneath her bare feet, whispering in a thousand voices. The Rift spoke to her — and through her.
"Where… where am I?" she murmured, though she knew.
