The first sliver burst against the cave wall, and others piled in behind to deepen the new tunnel.

Hanna: “We must learn how they protect each other.”
Mirri: “After they’re done trying to kill us, all right?”

Spans of spines leapt from one sliver to the next, forming a deadly hedge around the Weatherlight.

“Fascinating … These creatures display the paradox of tenacity and purposed self-destruction I have sought to breed into my thrulls.”
—Endrek Sahr, master breeder

Covered with hard shell-like plates, these slivers burrow through solid rock to carve out new nests for their hives.

“One emitted a strange series of buzzing clicks and guttural commands, then clawed arms emerged from all of them. Is there no limit to their adaptations?”
—Hastric, Thunian scout

“The slivers became adept at provoking a fear response in other species.”
—Hastric, Thunian scout

Slivers can turn a last stand into a stunning victory.

“A great many dangerous creatures call this region home. They all avoid the slivers.”
—Foothill guide

Traveling across the desert alone, you might assume you’d see them coming, but that would be your third mistake.

“It seems docile enough. Perhaps we could train it to reap the grain—it would be the easiest harvest season of our lives!”
—Georgina, farmer, now deceased

As the time streams grew more and more unstable, Dominaria’s creatures struggled to adapt. The intense pressures led to many dead ends but also to lethal new forms that appeared as suddenly as the ashen rains.

Within weeks, more slivers nested in Otaria than ever existed on Rath.

They hunt on pure instinct, driven by the will of the hive mind with no time wasted on independent thought.

When it wriggled closer to a thrum of slivers, their talons hardened and glinted in the sun. One took a playful swipe at a tree trunk, and its new blade cut clean through.

“One would think I would be accustomed to unexpected returns.”
—Hanna, Weatherlight navigator

Forked tails rustled. Talons clicked. A lone sliver streaked overhead like jagged lightning, and the hive thundered.

Newborn slivers will sometimes wrap themselves playfully around a human’s finger. They grow out of the “playful” part.

“Someone’s been tampering with the graves again. But what kind of grave robber uses a pickax?”
—Morgan, cemetery groundskeeper