The void hushed. Even the shards swirling like a storm had stilled, frozen in place as though the world itself leaned forward to listen.
Ren gripped the throne tighter. His breath was ragged, but his gaze was steady, unblinking. Across from him, the Savior of Glass stood tall and unscarred, light bending around him as though the Pane itself worshiped his form.
"Look at yourself, Ren," the Savior said softly, his voice resonant yet laced with pity. "Bleeding. Broken. Fractured. You drag those beside you into danger, forcing them to suffer because of your defiance. And for what? A throne you'll never be able to hold?"
Each word echoed like a hammer against Ren's skull. His mind flashed images—the girl crying, the rebellion crushed, the Pane consuming everything until only silence remained.
The Savior's voice gentled further, weaving into the marrow of his bones.
