The chamber had quieted, but not in peace — in the way that a battlefield goes still when everyone realizes the next strike could shatter the world.
Ryan lay curled in the center of a glowing containment sigil, unconscious, his breathing shallow but steady. The remnants of Oblivion still pulsed faintly around him, like a shadow just beyond the corner of the eye.
Louis stood in silence, staring down at the green screen Elyon had left behind. Its light had dimmed slightly — flickering like a candle about to snuff itself out.
Then:
"Master…"
The voice came not from the screen, but from the air behind him — quiet, ragged.
Louis turned.
Elyon was there — or rather, what remained of him.
One of his three floating rings was cracked, shards missing. The glowing lines on his cloak-like form were dim. Even his voice, once serene and clear like water flowing over stone, now trembled like wind over broken glass.
"Elyon." Louis frowned. "You should be resting."
