The Gathering
The gate spit me out like something it didn't want to swallow.
I hit the ground hard, hands and knees striking stone that was somehow both freezing and burning at once. The contradictory sensations warred against each other, neither winning, both equally real. The impact should have shattered bones, should have left me broken and bleeding, but my weightless Veil-body absorbed it like water, leaving only the memory of pain echoing through my consciousness.
I pushed myself up slowly, gasping for air that didn't want to come. The air here was different from anywhere I'd ever been. Thicker, denser, almost viscous. It pressed against my lungs like something solid and alive, making each breath a conscious effort rather than the automatic function it should be.
And it tasted like iron.
