Three days after the Heavenfall, all across Ayther the sky was rent open to a shimmering, ominous darkness. A second sky, roiling with the storms of Hell.
From it fell motes of blue and green, like dying fireflies drifting through the air slowly, barely visible to those without manasight. Where they fell, magic unraveled. Not by much, but enough that the most complex spellforms would begin to break under the unending wounds in their construction.
During the day, the sky-on-sky of the Grand Perdition dumped the ashfalls of Hell all across the world. And during the night, the storms of the shrouded, nigh-uninhabitable moon thundered in perpetuity.
But this was not the only sign of what was to come.
*
