The two newly reconstructed bodies of Kairos and Mongo lay sprawled across the star-flecked floor of the throne room, twitching like newborn fawns.
Their skin was pale, devoid of the pigment and hair that Sunny had intentionally withheld, leaving them looking like unfinished porcelain dolls.
As the fog of resurrection cleared from their minds, the first thing they heard was Sunny's voice. It wasn't a roar; it was a low, melodic thrum that vibrated through their new eardrums.
"The time for rest has expired. The time for the truth has begun."
It wasn't a formal command. It was a cold, empirical threat. The subtext was written in the very air of the hall: Speak, or turn to ashes once again.
Kairos shivered. The sensation of his soul being knitted back together atom by atom was still fresh, a traumatic, celestial surgery.
