How I even found the nerve to speak was beyond me. My voice shouldn't have worked—my throat felt dry, my lungs locked—but somehow, the words came out.
Maybe it was instinct.
Or maybe I was just too stunned to care anymore.
Either way, I was shaking in my boots. Literally.
The divine figure's gaze lingered on me, the weight of its attention pressing down like the gravity of a collapsing star. Those eyes—vast and calm—studied me in a way that made me feel stripped bare, like it could read the thoughts I hadn't even formed yet.
Then, finally, it spoke.
"The Overseer," it said, its tone deep enough to vibrate through the air. "Assigned by Lord Drugar."
The name hit me like a cold slap.
"Lord Drugar?" I repeated under my breath before I could stop myself.
The being's expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. Its eyes narrowed, the air growing heavier, and an almost tangible pressure descended over me. The world dimmed around the edges of my vision.
