The clearing did not just erupt; it disintegrated into a landscape of silver violence. When the Mercury Hydra's central head hammered into the basin, the sound was less like a beast's roar and more like the catastrophic failure of an industrial steam boiler. A wall of liquid mercury and shattered iron soil swept outward, catching the Third Division in a toxic spray that hissed against their white and gold tunics. The pristine armor of the six Knights was instantly stained by the grey grit of the groves, their Imperial dignity dissolving in the face of a Rank 5 disaster.
Vane did not recoil. He had already found the one pocket of space where the mercury rain fell thin, a small alcove behind a twisted, petrified root. He stood perfectly still. His breath was shallow and controlled to avoid the worst of the metallic fumes. His eyes were wide, but they were not filled with the panic of the prey. They were flickering with the blue, crystalline light of his first Authority.
