Aurora stood before him, unmoving.
Her golden form radiated soft light, but it did nothing to ease the oppressive stillness surrounding the chained figure. The void remained vast and indifferent, its silence so complete that even her presence felt like an intrusion.
The chained being did not lift his head. His posture remained slumped, long, unkempt hair veiling his face. Crimson chains drifted around him, their slow movement almost idle, as though time itself held no urgency here.
After several seconds, he exhaled.
"It's your mess," he said quietly. "You handle it."
Aurora inclined her head, accepting the rebuke without resistance.
"We have," she replied. "Every projection indicated stability. His progression remained within expected thresholds."
A faint chuckle escaped him. It carried no amusement.
"Expected thresholds," he murmured. "You speak as if you understand what you've created."
Slowly, he raised his head.
His face emerged from shadow.
"You rushed it."
