That night, fate took me across the northern continent to a snarl of rugged crags and deep crevices. The night was long, the shadows deep, with only a few stars peeking through the inky blackness. A thick fog had risen in the cracks and chasms, and a thick haze of Infernal mana hung low from the sky, trapping the ridges and peaks like ships in a storm.
From my vantage point, I looked down on a thick rocky horn rising from the fog, the peak flat on the top like a table. Several auras emanated from figures standing half-obscured upon it. Two of them are demons, and the third--
"Luke!" His name escaped with a gasp, and I flew forward, descended on the horn. I reached for him, but my hand passed through the vision, through his shoulder, and slipped through the folds of his new cloak.
He didn't turn, didn't react. But how could he?
