The chamber was heavy with silence.
Lucien sat on his conjured throne, his legs crossed, his smirk unchanging. The air itself bent around him, not from anger, not from raw force — but from inevitability. He did not need to shout or demand respect. He simply was.
His gaze swept the gathered gods, abyssal eyes gleaming with the faintest curl of amusement.
"Well then," he said softly. "Tell me… which of you dares oppose me?"
The words rang like a bell through the chamber.
Dozens of eyes turned away. Some gods shifted in their seats. Others froze, calculating. The bravado that had filled the hall minutes before was gone — replaced by a quiet fear. They had seen the pause. They had seen Xerathion struggle against it. If it had been them, they knew they would have shattered long before.
One voice, careful, steady, spoke up from the side.
"What is it you want, Dreamveil?" The speaker's humanoid form flickered — an obsidian-skinned being with eyes like molten suns. "Why are you here? What is your goal?"
Lucien leaned back, folding his hands. His smile never faltered.
"My goal?" he repeated. "Simple. To erase the chaos that feeds on existence itself. To remake the void, the realms, the roots of the tree, into something inevitable. To strip away the hunger and silence it forever."
He paused, letting his words weigh down the room. His tone never wavered, never carried doubt.
"I will become the end, and the beginning. The one exception to all endings. The truth that no one can defy."
The chamber rippled with disbelief. Some Outer Gods blinked, lips curling in mockery. Others stared in shock, as though he had just spoken blasphemy.
And then—
Xerathion laughed.
It wasn't mocking. It wasn't dismissive. It was deep, sharp, and alive with something none of them had seen in him for eons.
He leaned forward in his throne, his mantle flaring like a living starfield.
"…Then let me join you."
The chamber erupted.
"You—!"
"Xerathion, have you lost your mind!?"
"He stands against all that we are—!"
Disbelief cracked the silence. Dozens of voices clashed, the weight of their power pressing against the chamber walls. But Xerathion didn't flinch. He looked only at Lucien, as if the rest of them had already ceased to exist.
Lucien's smirk curled wider.
"Oh?" he asked. "And why would you of all beings join me?"
The chamber hushed again, waiting.
For the first time in countless eons, Xerathion lowered his gaze. His mantle dimmed, and his voice carried not the arrogance of an Outer God, but the trembling weight of a wound that had never healed.
"I wasn't always what I am now." His voice was quiet, steady, but every word cracked with memory.
"I was young once. Mortal, almost. Fragile. Born in a small universe where light and family were everything I knew."
He paused. His hands tightened on the armrests of his throne.
"And then… it came."
The council stilled.
"Not a god. Not a voidborn. Not something that should exist. A creature from the Ninth Dimension. It descended into our skies like it had been waiting for us. It didn't speak. It didn't roar. It just… destroyed."
His breath hitched. The flare of his mantle flickered.
"I watched planets fall. My home… the air I grew up breathing… gone in seconds. My people burned, crumbled, erased. My ancestors, my father… they stood before it. They weren't strong enough. They knew it. But they stood anyway. They held it back for as long as they could."
His voice cracked, words spilling raw, simple, unpolished.
"They bought me time. Time to run. My father shoved me through a breach, his hand on my chest, his last words in my ears. And when I looked back—"
His throat tightened.
"…there was nothing left."
The chamber was silent now. Not a god spoke. Even those who mocked, who doubted, said nothing. They felt it. The pain in his voice wasn't rehearsed. It wasn't cloaked in the arrogance of divinity. It was just real.
Xerathion lifted his gaze at last, eyes burning with a fire older than the stars themselves.
"I swore then, I'd never let it happen again. That no one else would watch their bloodline burn because existence itself wasn't strong enough to protect them."
He leaned back, his mantle flaring bright again.
"And now here you are, Dreamveil. Someone who doesn't just survive the void — someone who owns it. Someone who can do what none of us ever could: stop the hunger at its source."
His lips curved into a sharp smile, but it wasn't arrogance this time. It was resolve.
"So yes. Laugh all you want. Call me weak. Call me mad. But if there's even a chance that what he says is true… then I will stand at his side."
The chamber was silent. Every god stared, some wide-eyed, some sneering, some quietly thoughtful.
Lucien's smirk softened, just slightly. His abyssal eyes gleamed, not with arrogance, but with something closer to acknowledgment.
"Well," he said at last, voice smooth and calm. "At least one of you understands."
And with that, the balance of the council had shifted forever.