Oryzarakh's wings flexed once as the obsidian-gold halo behind his head dimmed slightly.
With an absent flick of his towering hand, the obsidian stone- now altered, humming with tightly coiled paradoxical authority- was returned to Ozymandias.
"Crush it," the Foldless One said, his voice slicing through the suffocating silence. "You will be sent forth with all the authority required to be a Warden. And I will be watching."
The stone hovered in Noah's palm, colder than the void between collapsed wheels. He gazed down at it, the obsidian pulsing with grandiose existence.
He said nothing.
But deep within, he reflected.
The weavings of the Living True Source of the Protagonist... were terrifying.
No, they did not control this Foldless One. That much was evident. Oryzarakh was a being of judgment and supremacy, beyond the reach of puppet strings. And yet…Noah's gaze narrowed.
