The warehouse stood three stories tall with most of its windows broken. damaged wood with itspeeling paint. The door hung crooked on rusted hinges.
The wrongness pressed harder here.
Owen's scales itched beneath his robe. His mana sense registered a distortion near, reality stretched thin like fabric pulled too tight.
"There." Vorthraxx pointed at the warehouse's western wall.
Owen saw it immediately. A tear in space roughly the height of a man, edges crackling with energy that hurt to look at directly.
Purple-black corruption leaked from the rift like infected blood from a wound. The air around it trembled with heat.
"How long has it been open?" Celeste asked.
"Three days according to it's mana readings." Vorthraxx moved closer, his Dragon's Eye scanning the rift's structure. "Stable rifts are worse than unstable ones. Means something on the other side is actively maintaining the connection."
