The world had grown too loud for Kaela.
Too many futures. Too many selves.
Each possibility whispered behind her eyes, tugging her skin in different directions, her body flickering between identities like a broken mirror trying to reform mid-shatter.
She said nothing when she pulled Darius away.
Not through words. Not even through touch.
A blink, and they were no longer in Elirion.
The landscape around them twisted into a surreal dream-realm stitched from Kaela's fragmented consciousness—violet horizons bled into crimson oceans, cities floated upside-down, and stars pulsed with the cadence of her breathing. Trees bore masks instead of fruit. The air smelled like forgotten lullabies.
Darius stood still at the center of it, calm, grounded, a silhouette of will.
Kaela hovered before him—nude, yet not exposed. She shimmered, her form constantly changing: now a queen, now a child of chaos, now something made of ink and aching laughter.
