The first thing Shi registered was the silence. It was not a quiet born of peace, but a deep, resonant void, a vacuum where the very soul of the Underworld used to be. For millennia, there had always been a sound, a feeling, a low and constant hum, the thrum of the Heartstone, the lifeblood of the realm pulsing through the ley lines like a great, dark river. It was the sound of existence.
Now, there was nothing. Only a profound, terrifying stillness that pressed in on his four ears, a pressure more absolute than any weight.
He was crouched in the maintenance tunnel, his stone-like skin scraped and raw from the violent journey. The mortal queen, Lian, was a fragile, warm weight against his side, her breath shallow and unsteady. The celestial creature, Astra, floated above them, its light a nervous, flickering candle in the oppressive dark, its soft whimpers the only sound in the dead world.
