The silence that followed Laxin's words did not linger long. The throne-world stirred, as if the very fabric of reality leaned in to listen. The black-starlit ocean shifted, its waves no longer random but deliberate—like breath. The constellations above trembled, rearranging themselves into new patterns, glyphs that none of them recognized but all instinctively understood: acknowledgment.
Fenric lowered his hand, silver flames coiling into a steady spiral around him. His gaze swept the horizon, sharp and unyielding. "It hears us. It agrees. The throne-world doesn't want one will. It wants harmony. Balance. Trinity." His voice carried with a weight that was no longer just his own—it was threaded with the resonance of law itself.
