The sky was a single rush of colors. Gold and blue interwove, sparkled, fought—neither light defeated the other, they devoured each other like two voices whispering the same sentence but in different languages.
The ground trembled. Cracks spread through the Glass Field that had once shimmered beneath their feet. Now it pulsated—cold and warm at the same time.
Alaric stood at the fracture line, the Shard clenched in his fist. The golden glow within it vibrated more intensely, as if it wanted to break free from his hand.
Rhea and Eiko sought cover behind a wall of charred concrete. "These aren't energy pulses anymore," Eiko shouted against the thunder. "This is communication!"
"Between whom?" Rhea screamed back.
"Between consciousnesses!"
Alaric barely heard them. The rushing in his head became words—not clear, but close.
"You are too close to the Origin."
"Who's speaking?"
"Not who. What. The remnant of what you once were."
