Phei arrived in darkness first.
Then the darkness looked at him.
Something ancient and ravenous behind the black — something that had been waiting, possibly since the first scream ever torn from Kyle's throat — registered the arrival of an intruder in its sanctum, and the entire ambient weight of the place shifted a fraction of a degree to account for him.
Phei felt it on his skin before his eyes had even begun to adjust: the attention of the realm settling across his shoulders like cold, sentient oil poured into the hollow of a palm — patient, slow, conforming perfectly to his shape, tasting him, remembering him, deciding what to do with the new morsel that had dared trespass.
Then red bled through the darkness in slow, arterial pulses, not illuminating the place so much as confessing its secrets in reluctant, throbbing confession.
