After being dragged by the yo-yo, Apollo twisted midair through the crack in space. He could feel the magic binding him begin to unravel. With a twist of his neck and a flare of divine energy, he broke free—but not by snapping the string. Instead, the yo-yo's thread phased through him as if it had served its purpose. It withdrew, zipping back toward its master.
The yo-yo returned to Adam's outstretched hand, vanishing into the shadows of his cloak.
Apollo landed on his feet, surrounded by a vast and eerie landscape.
Above him, the sky was haunted by the light of five hundred moons, each casting a sickly glow across the crumbling terrain. Massive cliff faces formed and decayed in a continuous cycle, like breathing stone. The very ground beneath him cracked and repaired itself in slow pulses.
