The warning came without sound.
No tremor.
No light.
No rupture.
Just absence.
Aiden noticed it first—not as fear, but as wrongness. The Chorus inside him went silent in patches, like voices being smothered mid-breath.
He bolted upright.
"Something's feeding," he whispered.
Lyra's hand went to her blade.
"On what?"
Aiden swallowed.
"On existence."
---
THE SKY BEGINS TO FALL
The clouds above them folded inward.
Not swirling—compressing.
Space bent as if gravity itself had decided to kneel.
Aidem cursed under his breath.
"It's here."
The horizon darkened.
Not with shadow—but with removal.
A circle of nothingness expanded, erasing color, sound, and meaning at its edge.
Lyra stared.
"That's not an army…"
Aidem finished grimly.
"That's a World-Eater."
---
THE FORM THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST
The Devourer emerged slowly, peeling itself into reality.
It had no single shape—only layers of impossible anatomy:
A core like a collapsed star
Tendrils of void wrapped in broken constellations
Fragments of cities, oceans, and forests embedded in its mass—frozen mid-consumption
Every world it had eaten was still there.
Screaming.
Aiden fell to his knees.
The Chorus surged in terror.
That thing has devoured us before.
Aiden's heart thundered.
"You've fought it?"
We lost.
Aidem stepped in front of him.
"You cannot fight this directly," Aidem said sharply.
"Not yet. Even Kings avoided them."
Aiden looked up at the Devourer—at the worlds trapped inside it.
"I'm not fighting it."
Aidem turned.
"…What?"
Aiden stood, shaking—but resolute.
"I'm negotiating."
---
THE DEVOURER SPEAKS
The Devourer noticed him.
Reality shuddered as its attention focused.
A voice echoed—not spoken, but imprinted into space.
WARDEN.
YOU ARE LOUD.
Aiden clenched his fists.
"I'm listening," he replied.
CONTINUANCE IS NOISE.
ENDINGS ARE QUIET.
Lyra whispered, "It talks like the Emissary—but bigger."
Aiden took a step forward.
"You don't have consent to eat those worlds."
The Devourer paused.
CONSENT IS IRRELEVANT.
ALL THINGS END.
Aiden raised his voice.
"Ending isn't the same as annihilation."
The Devourer's core pulsed.
SEMANTICS.
---
AIDEN'S GAMBLE
Aiden closed his eyes.
Serathiel. Chorus. I need something—anything.
The response was hesitant.
We can shield one world.
Only one.
Aiden opened his eyes.
"One?" he whispered.
The Devourer loomed closer.
CHOOSE.
Lyra gasped.
"It's forcing you—"
Aiden's chest burned.
Choose one world…
Condemn countless others?
His hands shook.
"No," he said.
The Devourer froze.
EXPLAIN.
Aiden stepped forward, standing at the edge of nothingness.
"I won't choose who deserves to exist," he said.
"That's what every tyrant does."
The Chorus trembled.
Then we all die.
Aiden met the Devourer's void-core.
"Then I'll change the rules."
---
THE FIRST CONTINUANCE ANCHOR
Aiden drove his hand into the air.
Pain ripped through him as white-gold light erupted outward—not as a shield, but as a point.
A nail driven into reality.
The Devourer recoiled slightly.
WHAT IS THIS—
"An anchor," Aiden said through gritted teeth.
"For worlds that refuse to be forgotten."
The anchor flared—linking not to one world, but to a memory shared by many.
A song sung across multiple erased civilizations.
The Devourer screamed.
Fragments of consumed worlds shook violently.
Lyra stared in disbelief.
"He's hurting it…"
Aidem's eyes widened.
"No," he breathed.
"He's binding it."
---
THE COST
Blood ran from Aiden's nose.
His knees buckled—but he stayed standing.
The Devourer writhed, void tendrils lashing.
YOU CANNOT HOLD ME.
Aiden coughed, tasting iron.
"I don't have to," he said.
"I just have to slow you down."
The anchor locked.
The expanding nothingness halted.
Barely.
The Devourer pulled back, space tearing around it.
THIS IS NOT OVER, WARDEN.
YOU ARE MARKED.
With a sound like a universe screaming, it retreated—vanishing beyond reality.
The sky snapped back into place.
Silence.
---
AFTERMATH
Aiden collapsed.
Lyra caught him, sobbing openly.
"You idiot," she whispered. "You absolute idiot—"
Aidem knelt beside them, staring at the fading anchor still glowing in the air.
"…You did what no King ever dared," Aidem said softly.
Aiden's vision blurred.
"Did… it work?"
Aidem nodded slowly.
"For now."
Aiden smiled weakly.
"Good."
His eyes closed.
The anchor pulsed once.
And somewhere beyond reality—
something ancient took notice.