Silence settled into the apartment in a way that had nothing to do with sound.
It wasn't heavy.
It wasn't tense.
It was aware.
Rayon stood near the window, the city of Noxis stretching beneath him like a living organism—lights flickering, people moving, ambition crawling through concrete veins. From this height, it all looked fragile. Temporary.
Nyk leaned against the counter, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. Christine sat on the arm of the couch, one leg crossed over the other, eyes sharp as ever. They both noticed it at the same time—the shift in Rayon's presence.
He wasn't glowing.
He was anchored.
Like the room existed around him rather than the other way around.
Rayon spoke without turning.
"The vessels you met tonight," he said calmly, "and the ones still waking up across Averis… even some of the primordials themselves."
He paused.
"They're useless for what's coming."
Christine's brow furrowed instantly. "Useless how?"
Nyk clicked his lighter shut, frowning. "Aye—hold on. You saying all this god-tier nonsense don't matter anymore?"
Rayon turned then.
His eyes were calm. Too calm.
"You're thinking in terms of power," he said. "What's coming doesn't care about power. It ends systems. It ends concepts. It ends stories."
Christine straightened. "Rayon, explain. Right now."
Rayon walked toward them.
Slow.
Measured.
Every step carried weight—not pressure, but certainty. He stopped in front of them, lifting his hand.
"Don't resist," he said softly.
Nyk scoffed. "Bro, I—"
Rayon placed a finger on Nyk's forehead.
At the same time, his other finger touched Christine's.
And the world ended.
There was no transition.
No tunnel of light.
No dramatic pull.
Reality simply peeled back.
They stood nowhere.
Not darkness—because darkness implied depth.
This was absence.
They watched stars blink out like dying thoughts. Galaxies collapsed inward without sound. Time fractured, then dissolved. Civilizations that never existed burned and vanished in the same instant.
Primordials fell.
Not slain.
Erased.
Their authorities unraveled like lies told too many times. Death screamed—and then had nothing left to reap. Hell collapsed into stillness. Reincarnation halted mid-cycle.
Light shattered.
Resonance screamed itself silent.
And then—
Only darkness remained.
Not hostile.
Not violent.
Just present.
And standing within it—
Them.
A group of figures, indistinct yet unmistakably real. Their shapes shifted between forms that shouldn't coexist—humanoid silhouettes layered over impossible geometry. Their presence didn't dominate the darkness.
It ignored it.
One of them turned.
Looked directly at Nyk.
At Christine.
At the concept of observers.
And the end advanced.
Nyk gasped.
Christine screamed.
They snapped back into the apartment like being thrown from a nightmare.
Christine fell to one knee, breath ragged, hands shaking. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown.
Nyk stumbled back into the counter, knocking over a chair. He stared at the floor for a long second.
Then he laughed.
Once.
Dry.
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket with trembling fingers, lit it, and took a long drag.
"Shit…" he muttered, exhaling slowly. "So that's how it ends."
Christine looked up at Rayon, voice tight. "That—what we saw—was that real?"
Rayon nodded. "A future. One of them. The one that keeps happening."
Nyk leaned back, smoke curling upward. "And that thing that looked at me… they do that every time?"
"Yes."
"And they win?"
Rayon met his eyes.
"Not this time."
Silence returned—but this time it was different.
It wasn't aware.
It was deciding.
Christine swallowed hard. "So what are we supposed to do?"
Rayon didn't answer immediately. He turned back toward the window.
"Grow," he said. "Change the rules. Prepare."
Nyk snorted quietly. "Damn, bro. You say that like it's easy."
Rayon smiled faintly.
"It isn't."
A sound cut through the room.
Tap.
Nyk frowned. "You hear that?"
Tap.
Something brushed against the glass.
Christine turned toward the window. "A bird?"
Rayon walked forward and opened it.
Night air flowed in.
A black raven swooped inside effortlessly, wings silent as it landed on Rayon's shoulder.
Its eyes gleamed—too sharp, too aware.
Nyk's jaw dropped.
"Yo…" he said slowly. "That's kinda dope."
The raven tilted its head.
Nyk grinned, stepping closer. "Can I touch it?"
Rayon didn't stop him.
Nyk reached out and gently tapped the raven's claw.
Peck.
"OW—damn!" Nyk hissed, pulling his finger back.
The raven stared at him.
Nyk glanced toward the window—then froze.
In the reflection, the raven was gone.
In its place stood something colossal.
Endless.
A shape that bent perception just by existing—wings that spanned horizons, eyes like collapsing stars, a presence so vast it made the city outside feel like a toy.
Nyk's breath hitched.
"…Bro," he said slowly, eyes locked on the reflection. "Is that Azath—"
The raven turned back into a bird.
Rayon smiled.
"Yeah," he said casually. "That's Azathot."
Nyk stared at the raven.
Then at Rayon.
Then laughed.
Not nervous.
Not afraid.
Just thrilled.
"Man…" he said, shaking his head. "You really different."
He looked at Rayon, eyes sharp, grin returning.
"So," Nyk said, pointing at the raven, "you handing those out now?"
Rayon's smile widened just a fraction.
"Maybe," he said. "You want one?"