The marrow's tremors became rhythm—half collapse, half heartbeat. Every chain that had once dragged screamed souls downward now swayed like a pendulum, pulled not by decree but by resonance, waiting for direction.
Leon exhaled slowly, the marrow flame in his chest pulsing to the same rhythm. His hand hovered over the air where the last Throne had shattered. Shards of shadow and light still lingered, flickering, yearning to reform into dominion—but there was no crown left to cage them. They drifted like ash, waiting for a verdict.
Naval stepped forward, dragon-flame still coiling along his blade. "If the marrow itself is hesitating, then it's looking to you, Leon." His voice was rough but steady, every word carved against exhaustion. "You're the one who broke them. Now you'll decide what replaces them."
