Lii, abandoned by her father

The air splits open like tearing flesh. A wound in reality itself, black and writhing, spilling something into a world that does not want it. Her. Lii stumbles forward, bare feet hitting cold pavement. The air here is different—thicker, heavier, filled with something wrong. Or maybe it's her. Maybe she's the thing that doesn't belong. Behind her, the wound shifts, dark tendrils curling inwards, collapsing. He stands just beyond it. A shape that isn't a shape, a voice that isn't a voice. 'Two years,' he says, his voice slithering through the cracks of existence itself. 'If you survive, perhaps you will have learned.' Her hands tremble at her sides. 'Fath—' But before she can finish, before she can beg him to stay, the wound snaps shut. The air is silent. The world is still. And she is alone.