For several breaths after the impact, Anarctica became strangely still.
The ancient storms continued roaring across the frozen horizons, colossal rivers of wind still screamed between mountains, and high above them, great masses of ice continued falling through the bruised heavens like fragments of some shattered frozen moon.
Yet something had changed beneath all of that violence.
The World Transcendents had stopped; snow sheets of snow peeled upward from Anarctica in slow, undulating tides. Frost rose from the Titan's corpse ad the ancient ice buried beneath kilometers of accumulated winter groaned awake and pushed toward the surface, while the blizzard above bent inward as though some invisible celestial hand had seized the weather by its spine.
Phei stood at the center of it.
