(Meanwhile, within the Blackhole, Soron's POV)
The pressure was endless.
It pressed down on him from every direction, an invisible ocean of gravity that could crush entire planets into dust, yet Soron sat in the heart of it all, unmoving, his body surrounded by a faint field of protective aura that bent space itself just enough to let him exist.
Around him, the abyss churned and screamed. The air, if it could be called that, rippled like molten glass. Fragments of light tore themselves apart before they could reach him, swallowed by the black maw that devoured even the idea of color.
And through it all, Soron breathed, slow and steady, his every exhale scattering flecks of condensed metal essence into the storm.
