The fourth vision was even harder than the second. Strands of Fate repelled each other like magnets, leaving me stranded in my soul space, surrounded by a chaotic, tangled mess of scenes. Every time I tried to force them together, my soul quivered under the strain, weakened from the stress of the last vision.
Finally, I cobbled together a few, gaining some momentum. The rest of the weave snapped into place, giving me a glimpse of the battle raging above the spire.
The sun kissed the horizon, half-obscured by the caldera's distant wall. Walls of ash smothered the oncoming twilight, the stars hidden by billowing smoke. Fires roared into the night, forming pillars of flame hundreds of feet tall. A few souls scurried around the upper reaches of the spire, a scant handful compared to the thousands who populated it the day before.
