The tremor didn't rattle the physical world. It bypassed stone, atmosphere, and flesh, vibrating directly against the cosmic substrate—the invisible bedrock of reality itself. It wasn't a dimensional tear. It wasn't the shockwave of a distant war. It was a waking pressure, like a massive hand pressing flat against the other side of a fragile pane of glass.
Deep within the Hatchery, the newborn dragons whimpered. Their scales lost their luster, and they huddled closer together in their sleep, instinctively fleeing a cold they couldn't understand.
Lord felt it first. He had been sitting among them, enjoying the quiet, but now he was instantly on his feet. Despite his small, childlike form, the sudden rigidity of his posture carried the weight of a hardened general. His golden eyes snapped wide, tracking a threat that had no physical coordinates.
