The absolute darkness of Silas's twilight tent was flawless. It was a localized pocket dimension of pure, quiet truth. It completely severed them from the apocalyptic thermal war raging in the courtyard. The deafening roar of Kael's plasma was gone. The violent hissing of vaporizing steam was gone. The ambient light of the sanctuary was entirely erased.
There was only the terrifying, wet rattle in Lucian's chest and the agonizing sound of the freezing wood beneath them.
Without the Sun God's ambient thermal radiation, the temperature inside the shadow tent immediately crashed to match the conceptual void pressing against the golden dome outside. The heavy wooden floorboards frosted over in seconds. The moisture in the air instantly crystallized, falling like a fine, glittering dust in the pitch-black space. Every single breath Valeria took felt like inhaling a handful of crushed glass. The cold was a physical, aggressive predator tearing at her lungs.
