Beyond the reach of mortal comprehension, farther than the farthest edge of existence where even the light of creation failed to reach, Erebus drifted in the black.
There was no sky here — no stars, no sound, no form of life nor meaning. Only the oppressive silence of the void, so absolute that even the concept of time seemed to crumble under its weight.
The only thing that existed here was nothingness, and that which thrived within it.
Erebus floated motionless, shrouded beneath a cloak woven from Nyx's own essence, threads of primordial shadow laced with the echoes of her being.
The cloak pulsed faintly with her power, like the beating heart of darkness itself.
It was this divine relic that allowed him to trespass into this forbidden place between realities, unseen by the ravenous eyes that watched all things.
Yet even with it, he was terrified to breathe, terrified to even think too loudly.
