**Kelly Thompson's POV**The shore isn't a shore-it's a *threshold*.Black sand shifts like living static beneath our boots, each grain humming with the residue of dead timelines. The army of echoes crawls from the depths, their bodies skeletal amalgamations of every version of us that ever fell: wolves with Eden's face, storms with my hands, fragments of Kael and Lila stitched together in mockery. They don't attack. They *watch*, hollow eyes tracking our every breath.Eden's hand trembles in mine. He's colder now, his pulse sluggish where the Song once roared. "They're waiting for something," he murmurs.The sky answers.It splits like rotten fabric, spilling a viscous light that doesn't illuminate-it *dissects*. The air curdles, thickening into a syrup that coats my tongue with the taste of iron and forgotten words. From the fissure drifts a child, her bare feet dangling above the sand. She's no older than ten, her skin translucent, veins glowing with black liquid. Her eyes are pool
Terakhir Diperbarui : 2025-06-30
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