The command was not spoken—it was enforced.
The Tower's voice surged outward in a cataclysm of resonance, a tidal wave of annihilation that sought to sweep away not only their bodies but their very notes. The bridge of voices screamed as the white flood bore down, threads of memory unraveling, stars blinking out, fire guttersnapping in the glare.
Naval planted both fists into the ground, the bridge groaning beneath him. The glow around his arms blazed red-hot as he roared. "Over my dead body!" He struck, not to resist, but to split. His blows hammered the wave into fragments, drumbeats breaking silence into rhythm.
Roselia lifted her trembling hands, stars spilling from her veins. They curved into constellations, jagged and imperfect, but each one a light that refused to be swallowed. "Not erasure," she whispered fiercely, her voice cracking yet radiant. "Remembrance!" The constellations caught the onrushing tide, burning holes into the void-white.
