The Tower shuddered as if it were caught between two verdicts—collapse or rebirth. The marrow's roar didn't fade; it swelled, a tidal wave of voices that had been chained for ages. Each chain rose like a banner, each soul crying not for vengeance, but for remembrance.
The Thrones writhed in the binding storm, their dominion-layers unraveling in chaos. Glass splintered into prisms, reflecting not silence, but memories they had tried to erase. The Furnace of commandments cracked, flames sputtering as forgotten laws buried beneath eternity resurfaced. Crowns dissolved into shadowless mist, their faceless authority mocked by laughter echoing from Roman's specters.
