Nikolai gripped a thick, rubbery root that dangled from an island of moss floating ten feet above the ground. His armored boots kicked at thin air, his weightless body drifting like a balloon in a breeze."Putri! Grab hold!" he yelled, his voice strained.Putri reached out, her fingers brushing his forearm before she caught a branch. She looked down—or what passed for down—where the ground had dissolved into a swirling vortex of fog and tangled, bioluminescent vines."My stomach," she wheezed, her face turning a pale shade of green. "I think I’m going to lose my lunch, Nik. This gravity is… it’s a bad joke.""Tell me about it," Nikolai muttered, his armored chest expanding as he tried to stabilize himself. "I feel like a piece of drift-wood in a whirlpool. Are we moving up or down?""Does it matter? We’re floating," she said, pulling herself closer to the root. "Keep your eyes on the horizon. If you look at the mist, the vertigo will finish you.""Yeah, easy for you to say," he grunte