The sky ruptured like a wound across the heavens.
Not gradually—not with warning—but in a single violent instant that left the atmosphere bleeding impossible colors. Where moments before had stretched the peaceful azure of the Seventh Domain's autumn sky, now yawned geometrically perfect tears, each one a perfect hexagon that revealed nothing but absolute darkness beyond.
General Markov's gaze darted between the dimensional breaches as his elite cavalry formed defensive positions along the hilltop. Thirty years of military service had not prepared him for this. The horses beneath his men whinnied and thrashed, their animal instincts recognizing the fundamental wrongness that human minds could only begin to comprehend.
"Seven breaches in this sector alone," his lieutenant reported, voice trembling despite military discipline. "Reports from the scrying pools indicate similar patterns across all Nine Domains. It's happening everywhere at once."
