Not violently.
Not suddenly.
It recognized him.
Darkness that had once churned like a wounded ocean—endless, directionless, gnashing against itself in meaningless turbulence—began to slow. Currents lost their aggression. Whorls collapsed inward, folding and layering as though some unseen law had quietly rewritten gravity's priorities.
Chaos did not vanish.
It learned restraint.
The void deepened, strata forming where none had existed before, bands of shadow stacking into discernible distance. A horizon emerged—not light against dark, but absence organizing absence. Orientation returned. Direction regained relevance. The concept of beneath resolved, and with it, the suggestion of ground.
Atlas stood.
And the void bent.
Not in submission.
In acknowledgement.
Shadow did not kneel—but it listened. As it was veil himself.
