The council chamber was not meant to exist.
It hovered between realms—suspended in a fracture of space where time bent inward on itself, allowing beings too powerful, too dangerous, too ancient to sit together without tearing reality apart.
Nine thrones circled the chamber.
Only six were occupied.
The absence screamed.
A ripple of heat cut through the space as the Sunbound Heir materialized at the center of the circle. His armor was cracked, his aura dimmer than it had been in centuries.
He did not kneel.
He did not bow.
But he did not stand tall either.
"The Foundation has aligned," he said flatly.
Silence followed.
Then—
A low, venomous laugh.
"So the rumors are true," purred the Sovereign of Tides, her body half-liquid, eyes like abyssal depths. "The Heartbound chose herself."
A massive figure of stone and bone shifted in its throne. "Impossible," rumbled the Earth Tyrant. "The Origin does not choose. It consumes."
