The sentinel crashed downward in a burst of white sparks and wing fragments. It wasn't destroyed—it was too well-built for that—but its recovery would take time.
Cain didn't wait.
He ran toward the monolith.
The closer he got, the more the realm shifted. Space folded subtly, distances contracting. The sky above him rippled, as though something massive pressed against it from the other side.
Leth flew beside him. "Cain… the closer we get, the worse the distortion. You feel it?"
Cain felt it. His vision wavered at the edges. His heartbeat wasn't syncing with his body. Time jittered—his steps felt out of order, sometimes repeating, sometimes skipping.
"Doesn't matter," Cain said.
"It does. This is him. He's aware of you."
"Good."
"Cain—this realm doesn't just bend space. It bends intent."
Cain kept going. "Then it can bend. I won't."
