After taking a moment. Just a moment. We went back to the surface.
Not charging out like heroes. Not expecting cheers. Just… checking. Because if the surface had fallen while we were busy surviving our own apocalypse underground, I don't think I could've handled that.
The first thing I noticed was the air.
It was heavy. Burnt. Saturated with mana residue and blood and sweat and fear that hadn't fully dissipated yet.
The rift was gone.
No dramatic collapse.
No cinematic implosion.
Just absence.
Like someone erased it mid-sentence.
But the monsters it spat out were still there.
Everywhere.
Players were already fighting.
Not chaotically. Not desperately.
They had lines. Actual lines. Shields interlocked. Spears braced. Mages alternating casts instead of dumping mana like idiots.
Archers perched on rubble, calling targets. Healers rotating between squads with practiced efficiency.
Someone barked orders. Someone else responded without hesitation.
