"Brother, death isn't as terrifying as you think!" Drakthul offered by way of comfort. As he spoke, a profound, knowing smile touched the corners of his eyes.
Pellam just shook his head and took a deep pull from his cup. It wasn't that he didn't understand; they simply placed entirely different values on the meaning of survival.
"Come on, drink up. His Majesty hasn't sent down any urgent decrees, so nothing catastrophic has happened yet," Drakthul urged, raising his cup again. "Look at it out there. Doesn't this remind you of the old Dark Tides?"
Pellam obliged, clinking his heavy mug against the giant's.
But as they tipped their heads back to drink, both men froze. They stopped mid-gulp, their eyes locked on the sky, utterly mesmerized by the transformation unfolding above them.
The once impenetrable, endless dark of the firmament was splitting. Slowly, as if an invisible, god-like hand was peeling back a velvet curtain from the center outward, the sky tore open.
