The black pearl in Ren's hand was more than a message; it was a lethal wound in reality. Even after the woman had vanished into the brine, the air around the shrine remained thick with the scent of stagnant water and rotting kelp. The grey mist didn't dissipate with the morning sun. Instead, it clung to the mountain's ankles, a rising tide of gloom that seemed to swallow the very light of day.
Ren stood at the lookout point, his left hand gripping his staff so hard the wood groaned. The mana he had recovered felt like a flickering candle in a hurricane.
"Ren-sama, look." Tanaka's voice was hollow. He pointed toward the distant horizon, where the Pacific Ocean should have met the sky in a line of deep blue. There was no blue left. A massive, charcoal colored cloud had anchored itself over the coastline, stretching from the ruins of Chiba to the docks of Yokohama. It wasn't moving with the wind. It was breathing.
