The moment Kaelith's polished shoes touched the invisible floor of the Primordial Void, it was as if the plane itself shifted to accommodate his presence. He didn't belong here—yet the arrogance in his stride declared otherwise. Blue hair with a red strand that fell perfectly across his forehead swayed as he adjusted the cuffs of his fitted suit, eyes glimmering with amusement.
"Well," Kaelith drawled, voice smooth as wine, "so this is the infamous Sole Exception. The man who claims dominion over the roots and thinks himself untouchable." He smirked, tilting his head, his eyes locking onto Lucien's abyssal ones. "I expected… bigger."
Lucien didn't move from where he stood. His army, his citadel, even Veythar and Null—all waited in silence. He simply smiled faintly, a calm curve of lips that made Kaelith's smirk twitch.
"You walked into my realm uninvited," Lucien said evenly. His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried across the infinite void, steady and absolute. "You dressed yourself up, rehearsed that little speech, and all for what? To measure me? To irritate me?"
Kaelith chuckled, shoulders shaking. "Irritate you? No, no, Lucien. You misunderstand." He took a step closer, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm here because your little tree grew where it shouldn't. Its branches brushed the ceiling of my world. And I…" His grin widened, teeth sharp and white. "…I like to greet ambitious gardeners."
Lucien's eyes narrowed faintly. His abyssal gaze flickered—not hostile, but knowing. "And if I chose to cut those branches down? Would you vanish back into your ceiling like a rat into its hole?"
For the first time, Kaelith blinked, a quick break in composure before laughter burst from him, rich and mocking. "Oh, gods, you're sharp. I see why the Void chose you. But tell me—" His tone darkened as he leaned forward slightly, voice dipping low, "—do you even know what it means to stretch a tree beyond the Void? Do you know who watches from above?"
Lucien didn't flinch. His gaze was cold, steady. "If there is something above, I'll see it when it comes. And when it does, I won't be the one flinching."
That stopped Kaelith's laughter. The smirk remained, but now it carried a thin edge. The air between them sharpened, like blades crossing without being drawn.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then Kaelith exhaled softly, almost like a sigh. "Unshaken. I like that. Most flinch at my presence. You… you stand there smiling like you're the one humoring me."
Lucien's smile widened just slightly. "Because I am."
Veythar rumbled low in the distance. Null stirred, its nine heads hissing with amusement, sensing tension coil between gods of two planes. But Lucien didn't move, didn't yield—not even when Kaelith leaned in until their foreheads almost touched, eyes burning like twin stars.
Finally, Kaelith straightened, clapping once with deliberate slowness. "Good. Very good. You're not a puppet dancing on fear. You're a thorn—sharp, irritating, and entirely in the wrong place." He adjusted his suit jacket, turning his back without hesitation. "I'll enjoy watching you grow, Lucien Dreamveil. Perhaps even pruning you… when the time is right."
Lucien spoke, voice cutting clean through Kaelith's retreat. "Careful. Prune the wrong branch, and you might find the whole tree crushing your world instead."
Kaelith paused mid-step. His grin returned, darker now, shadow curling around his form. "Spicy. I like you." And with that, he vanished, leaving only the echo of laughter and the faint aftertaste of divinity foreign to this realm.
Lucien stood unmoved, expression calm but eyes gleaming faintly as his citadel pulsed behind him. He didn't give in. Not once.