The silence in the Eternal Citadel's war chamber was the kind that preceded either reconciliation or bloodshed. Reed knew this from experience—two decades of cosmic warfare had taught him to read the subtle currents of tension that flowed between desperate allies.
He studied the assembled figures with his Wounded Sage awareness, noting how the dimensional barriers around the room hummed with barely controlled energy. The Youth Alliance stood on one side, their transcendent forms radiating the kind of power that made reality itself seem malleable. The older generation clustered opposite them, their accumulated wisdom manifesting as intricate patterns of consciousness-void harmony that had taken lifetimes to master.
Between them, the space literally ached with mutual mistrust.
