Kastner roared at the spuming heavens above. He had never seen such a storm. Rolling banks of clouds swallowing one another – spreading, surging and raging with lightning of pinks and blues. His chin fell and his gaze reached the clearing floor. He found tracks – the trench the greatsword had been carving behind him cross-crossed itself many times in a pattern of madness. Lines and circles. The black earth of the clearing was churned up in the impression of a star. An eight-pointed star.
