The night outside was calm, the kind of silence that could lull anyone into deep rest. Yet, for Alex, true rest was something foreign. Even as his body lay motionless in the real world, his mind shifted to the pitch-black void of Nyx's inner world.
The familiar sensation washed over him—an oppressive gravity pulling down on every fiber of his being, the suffocating darkness that stretched infinitely, and the faint glow of shadow flames that lined the horizon like distant stars. And there, as always, she awaited.
Nyx sat upon her throne of writhing shadows, her piercing gaze fixed on him with that unreadable, frigid expression. A sword rested lazily across her knees, as though even the idea of lifting it for battle was beneath her. Yet Alex knew—once she stood, his torment would begin.
He exhaled slowly, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders.
"Let's begin," he muttered, more to himself than her.
