The sky split like a wound.
And from its fracture came a shadow so vast that it made the Fourth Layer tremble.
The horizon dimmed; even light itself seemed to kneel. The air became thick enough to choke on, dense with an ancient gravity that pressed on the heart more than the flesh.
Clouds curled inward, devoured by the radiance of two eyes—white and endless, opening like twin suns above the ruins.
When the voice came, it was not a sound, but a command written into every atom.
"Atlas, the Guide. Son of Empress Lilith… Truly, a child of Genesis."
The words carried both pride and warning. The tone of a creator watching her creation stand upright for the first time.
The shadowed form towered higher still, its silhouette melting into the vault of heaven, so immense that Atlas could see only half of its body—yet even that half was more than the mind could hold.
The wind died. Every spark of mana in the air bent toward the Empress's gaze.
