The air in the abyss didn't just rush past them; it shrieked.
Falling into the pitch-black maw of the world felt like being fed into the throat of a giant, the heat rising from the boiling nectar ocean below stinging their skin with every passing second.
They were plummeting toward a death that promised to be instant and absolute.
Elara grabbed Lucien by the breastplate, her fingers digging into the cold iron as the wind whipped her hair into a frenzy.
She didn't have time for fear.
She felt the heavy, rhythmic thud of their tethered hearts and knew that if they hit the bottom, the connection wouldn't save them.
It would only ensure that when one shattered, the other followed.
She didn't think about the cost.
She didn't think about the voice of the High Elder screaming in her mind to let go and let the gravity do its work.
She acted.
Elara slammed her palm against the air, pulling inward on the chaotic, jagged energy of the black nectar coursing through her veins.
