The portal opened without ceremony.
A tall rectangular frame of pure interlocking script rose from the dense ground. Its surface shifted in slow, deliberate patterns, runes sliding over one another like scales on something breathing. The light it cast was faint, barely enough to outline the edges of the doorway. The remaining survivors stood in silence for a moment, measuring the doorway and each other. Counting heads. Noting who was gone. No one spoke of the people who had already withdrawn. The choice had been made. Those who remained had already accepted whatever came next. There was no going back. There had not been for a while.
Runar stepped through first.
He did not hesitate. Did not look back. Did not pause at the threshold to steel himself or prepare. He simply walked forward, one foot crossing the boundary between what was and what came next, and the portal took him.
