The world had gone silent, ash drifted like snow through the pale air, soft as breath and heavy as memory. The light was no longer sunlight, it was something thinner, silver and bleeding at the edges, as though the sky itself were trying to remember what warmth used to mean.Jenna stood amid the ruins of the old corridor. Every surface shimmered faintly, glass fused with bone, the marks of a divine fire. Her hands trembled. The burns that had once lined her palms were gone, only smooth skin remained.She flexed her fingers again and again, disbelieving. The world had healed her, or remade her, but it wasn’t the world that frightened her.It was him. Denilson stood several meters away, near the shattered arch where Nýxoros had once breathed. He was motionless, back to her, a silhouette carved from light and shadow both. The wind did not move his hair.His body seemed suspended between breaths, too still, too precise, like the image of a man remembered by something that was not human. S

The first thing Jenna felt was air, Not the sterile hum of collapsing light, not the burn of cosmic wind, but real air soft, cool, tasting faintly of rain and rust.She drew a shuddering breath. Her body hurt, but in the wrong way not broken, not burned, only displaced. Like she’d been poured into herself too quickly.When she opened her eyes, the sky was pale gray. The field stretched endlessly, coated with ash that wasn’t ash, the color of faded memory. She touched it; it dissolved under her fingers, revealing living grass beneath.“Denilson?” she whispered.Her voice carried far, but no echo came back. She sat up, trembling. Her clothes were intact. Her hands, no longer marked by divine corrosion, looked human again. But her veins glowed faintly under her skin, gold pulsing like heartbeat light.The horizon looked wrong. The mountains were too close, the clouds too slow. The sun hung there, large and dim, as if it had forgotten how to move.It took her a full minute to realize the

When Jenna opened her eyes, the sky was blue, real blue, thin, washed out daylight smeared with thin clouds that drifted like nothing had ever happened. The ground beneath her was grass, wet with dew. Somewhere nearby, birds sang.She sat up slowly, hands trembling. Her breath fogged, air, real air, for a long moment, she just stared at the horizon. There were hills. A line of trees.The faint shimmer of water, none of it burned or broke or glowed wrong, It looked like Earth, the Earth she’d known before the descent, but something was missing.Silence. It wasn’t absence of sound, it was a deeper stillness, the kind that comes after an orchestra stops but the echo hasn’t yet died.She pressed a palm to her chest. The golden pulse was faint now, like an ember cooling under skin.“Denilson?” she called.No answer. Only the wind, moving through grass.She stood, dizzy, trying to orient herself. A road ran nearby, cracked asphalt, worn with moss, and faded white lines. A sign half-buried i

The storm did not come from the sky. It rose from beneath the skin of the world.Jenna felt it before she saw it, an ache, deep and bone heavy, vibrating through the sidewalks, through her ribs, through the gold still faintly pulsing at her heart. The street around her rippled like reflection disturbed by a fingertip.The hum of the city faltered. Engines stuttered, neon signs blinked once, twice, and went dark. People froze mid-step, mouths half-open, eyes wide as if waiting for someone to finish their sentences.Then the air broke, not shattered, peeled.The skyline split into reflections, each fragment hanging in impossible symmetry, layers of Bridgewater suspended within each other like glass panes misaligned. Through them, Jenna saw something vast: veins of light running through dark matter, pulsing as if the cosmos itself were alive.He’s rewriting again.The whisper wasn’t Nýxoros this time. It was Denilson, not the man, his presence. Faint, reverberant, carried by the tearing

Morning again, always morning.Jenna woke to sunlight painting the room in soft amber. Everything was exactly where she’d left it, the lilies, the framed photograph, the untouched glass of water by her bed. It should have been comforting. Instead, the sameness gnawed at her.Outside, the world glowed with the kind of order no city ever truly managed. No traffic noise. No uneven footsteps. Just the murmur of perfection looping like background music.She rose, crossing to the window. The crack in the sky was still there, thin as a hairline fracture in porcelain, but it hadn’t closed. She tried to tell herself it was only a jet trail, a trick of the light. She didn’t believe herself.When she blinked, she saw it widen.At breakfast, the radio played a cheerful tune she didn’t recognize. Then the voice of the announcer repeated the same sentence twice, word for word, tone for tone. The second time through, one syllable broke like a skip on vinyl.Jenna set down her spoon. “What is happeni