In the middle of Cascade Valley, where every waterfall emptied into the vast lake spanning the crater, the water stopped behaving like water.
Moments ago, the lake had still been churning from the guild war and the flood Martin had unleashed across the valley. Waves slapped against broken stone. Foam gathered around torn roots and shattered monster bodies. The whole crater should have been noisy with aftermath.
Instead, the lake grew quiet in a way that felt deliberate.
The waterfalls kept crashing, but the sound seemed farther away now, muffled beneath a pressure that settled over the valley. Surviving players on the upper ridges felt it before they understood it, that slow tightening in the air that made hands close around weapons and eyes drift toward the center of the lake.
There, beneath the surface, a thin black line opened.
