Your bare feet tear across the sacred stones as you flee, the embroidered hem of your ceremonial robes ripping against jagged rock. Behind you, the violet flames explode upward in a geyser of astral fire, casting monstrous shadows that stretch across the fleeing crowd. The Moonweaver's wail follows you - a sound like shattering mirrors - as the standing stones complete their rotation with an earth-shaking CRACK.

The cliff path disintegrates beneath you, transforming into a cascading river of glowing blue sand. You leap sideways as a section collapses entirely, catching yourself on an ancient obsidian monolith now jutting at an unnatural angle. Its surface burns cold against your palms, covered in newly illuminated carvings showing a hooded figure breaking free from celestial chains.

A thunderous voice echoes from the crumbling ritual site: 'RUN, LITTLE SPARK, BUT THE SKY HOLDS ALL ROADS.' Above, the aurora contorts into a colossal eye that blinks once, slow and deliberate, before dissolving into a million falling embers. Each ember transforms into tiny winged creatures that swirl around you in a laughing cyclone, their forms shifting between moth and miniature comet.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you reach the treeline, where the familiar forest has transformed. The oaks now grow upside-down, their roots cradling glowing orbs like captured stars, while the path ahead splits into three impossible directions: one paved with singing bones, one lined with floating obsidian mirrors, and the last disappearing into a tunnel of living shadow.