"Ah, yes. That," Ikenga murmured.
The Oracle's eyes flared, a hunger he couldn't quite mask, and the heavy, chained book bound to his waist began to rattle, a frantic, metallic shivering, as if the artifact itself anticipated the revelation.
Ikenga opened his palm, and the space above it distorted. A single, brittle scrap of aged parchment materialized, pulsing with a faint, abyssal light.
"You've been tearing the realms apart in search of this," Ikenga said, watching the Oracle's gaze lock onto the paper. "This is the method you've been so desperately chasing. The missing key to your ambition."
The Oracle's gaze locked onto the parchment. The world around him, the presence of his creator, the biting taunts of Phantom, everything ceased to exist. His breath hitched as he stared at the document, his voice a mere sliver of sound.
"Is this… for me? Creator?"
