The crack had appeared in at the pack in the morning.
Kaelen was there for a run, the voice had said.
[Something interesting is going to happen.]
[You will want to see it.]
He had learned not to argue. Arguing made the voice louder.
So he had gone.
The air split open like a wound. Black and pulsing, the air around it shimmered with heat and something else, something that smelled of ozone and old blood and the inside of a dungeon core. Kaelen stood at the edge of the crack and looked.
[Class D, the voice said. That is what they will call it.]
[They are lying.]
Kaelen watched the authorities arrive, watched the evacuation, watched the armed teams seal the perimeter, he did not run. He stood in plain sight, a red-haired man with mismatched eyes and a smile that did not fit the situation, and no one looked at him twice.
