The slums erupted into absolute chaos.

The wailing of the Rift Sirens was a physical force, pressing against Elara’s eardrums as she and Kaelen sprinted out of the shelter and into the narrow, winding streets of the lower ring. Above them, the sky was tearing open.

Massive, swirling vortexes of

The sound of the Vance Manor’s protective dome fracturing was not a loud explosion, but a high-pitched, agonizing shriek of dying magic. It echoed through the opulent marble halls, vibrating in the teeth of everyone cowering inside.

In the central atrium, the massive, sapphire-hued wardstone that

The journey through the lower city was a descent into hell. The armored carriage violently bucked and jolted as it plowed over debris, shattered cobblestones, and occasionally, things Caelum forced himself not to identify.

Outside the reinforced glass, the city was dying. The Rift Storm was a mael