“You would kill the horizon itself,” Dyndolod whispered. “Every mountain you see from afar. Every distant ruin. All would collapse into void.”
Erik looked at the approaching giant, then at his steel axe. He sighed. “I hate it when the problem is metaphysical.” dyndolod
“You feel that?” he asked Jenassa, who was busy haggling a skeever-tail price down to something insulting. “You would kill the horizon itself,” Dyndolod whispered
A crack split the air—not thunder, but the sound of a million distant textures being recalculated. The LOD was collapsing inward. And where it collapsed, new land appeared. A second Bleakwind Basin. A duplicate Rorikstead, its thatched roofs fresh and empty. An entire ghost-Nordic ruin that rose from the tundra like a clenched fist, every block of it sharp and impossibly detailed. All would collapse into void