Zayn walked over to the edge, rolling his shoulders.
He crouched to take off his boots, already fantasizing about how nice it would be to float for a bit, maybe forget about being almost eaten by a worm,
But then he blinked.
Something shifted.
The reflection on the lake surface — Bran's arms mid-splash, the overhanging vines, the soft glimmer of the soul-lit ceiling — it all… stuttered.
Like a broken frame in a painting.
Then everything changed.
Zayn jerked back instinctively as the water beneath Bran vanished — not drained or splashed away, but gone — a sudden collapse like the lake had never been there.
Bran yelped mid-laugh and dropped with a hard thump onto wet mud that steamed as if the liquid had been violently evaporated.
The trees lining the far end of the lake withered.
The leaves crumbled and fell like ash.
The tall grasses around them turned brittle in seconds, browning, curling, then collapsing into gray powder.
