The First Rift Distortion

A Storm That Refused to Fall

The storm didn't move.

Clouds loomed over the valley, swollen with rain that would never fall. Forks of lightning cut through the sky, freezing mid-strike—tendrils of white-blue energy locked in place like cracks in a painted canvas.

Ethan stood at the edge of the distortion, his boots planted on a jagged outcrop overlooking the town below. Mia and Orion flanked him, their cloaks stirring in a wind that didn't reach the valley.

And below them…

The town repeated.

A bell tolled from the village square—deep and resonant. Then it tolled again. And again.

A woman walked along the cobbled streets, a basket of apples resting on her hip.

A child sprinted past her, his foot catching on a loose stone. He stumbled, arms flailing—his face scrunching in panic.

A merchant adjusted a row of glass bottles on his cart, wiping the same smudge from the same bottle with the same absent motion.