The Endless Abyss did not echo when Rayon walked.
There were no footsteps. No sound. No ripple in space or time to mark his passage. The darkness simply accepted him, folding inward as if he had always been there and was only now remembering his shape.
Erethon and Vorthalaxis remained behind.
Not because they were forbidden to follow—nothing in the Abyss forbade them—but because this was something Rayon had to do alone.
He closed his eyes and walked deeper.
Deeper than the layers where shadows still pretended to be forms. Deeper than the strata where concepts like distance and direction retained meaning. Here, even intention dissolved if it did not belong.
And yet he walked.
As he moved, his voice carried—not outward, but inward—spoken not to listeners, but to the Abyss itself.
"Some mortals and divinity share most things," he said calmly. "Fear—when something doesn't go their way even once. Greed—always hungry for more power without reason. Pride—something they guard as if losing it means ceasing to exist."
The darkness thickened, swallowing even the suggestion of his silhouette. If anyone had been watching, they would have felt it.
The sensation of being watched back.
"Mortals hope," Rayon continued. "They pray. They place faith in gods, relying on eternal power… waiting for miracles. Gods don't hope. They harvest it. Faith becomes their fuel."
He stopped.
Sat.
Cross-legged, suspended in nothing, supported by everything.
"But tell me," he said softly, almost amused. "Who do the gods worship?"
The Abyss did not answer.
He answered himself.
"Their creator. The absolute being. The one who made everything for them."
A pause.
"Then why do they seek to kill their creator?"
The darkness pulsed, ancient and patient.
"Greed for power," Rayon said. "Or perhaps… hope. The hope that if they succeed, they will finally become something more. Or that once the creator is gone, they will be free to aim higher."
His eyes opened.
There was no light in them.
"In my eyes, mortals, gods, and beasts are all the same. But there is one thing none of them share."
The Abyss leaned closer.
"Darkness."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Fear is derived from me. Greed is meaningless to me—I have no limit. Pride?" He shrugged, a motion that caused the Abyss to subtly warp. "I possess it, but I don't need it. If something must be done, it will be done. If someone makes me an enemy, they will die. If they don't… then killing them is unnecessary."
The darkness shifted, as if approving.
"But," Rayon continued, his voice quieter now, more grounded, "since I was young—since I became aware—I only knew mortals ruled by fear, greed, and pride."
Images surfaced unbidden.
Azelar, sipping tea with that infuriating calm.
Nexus, fierce and warm and impossibly alive.
Severin's laughter.
Cairo's stubborn loyalty.
Nyk's reckless grin.
Isis' sharp gaze.
Christine's unyielding presence.
Erethon
Vorthalxis
"And then," Rayon said, exhaling slowly, "I met people who weren't defined by those things."
His smile softened—just a little.
"I became family."
The Abyss waited.
"I became a father."
Silence followed.
Then Rayon laughed, low and genuine.
"Look at me," he said. "Getting emotional."
He straightened, spine aligning with the invisible axis of the Abyss.
"Let's get to work."
He inhaled.
The darkness inhaled with him.
This was not ordinary breath. It was not oxygen or energy or mana.
It was authority.
"Monarch's Breath."
The Abyss responded instantly.
Darkness poured into him—not entering, not merging, but remembering itself through him. His presence expanded, not outward, but everywhere at once.
He began to train.
Not by learning.
By remembering.
Endless Night.
With a thought, a world—somewhere, sometime—lost its sun. Day collapsed into eternal dusk as darkness swallowed light without resistance.
Shadow Embodiment.
The Abyss wrapped him like armor, absolute and unbreakable, not a defense but a declaration: nothing touches what belongs to darkness.
Flight.
He moved without moving. Direction became optional.
Blades formed in his hands—swords of condensed night, each one capable of severing concepts, not flesh.
Absolute Concealment.
Existence forgot him. Detection became impossible. Even causality failed to notice his absence.
Infinite Awareness.
While seated in the Abyss, he observed Krylos. Isola Krein. The Vessels Continent. Threads of fate trembled under his gaze.
He moved faster than light.
Faster than sound.
Faster than transition itself.
If he chose to cross the world at full speed, reality would not register the moment between departure and arrival.
He resurrected a being long erased by time.
He erased it again.
He created a dimension.
Collapsed it.
Adjusted a timeline—gently—just enough to see the ripple.
Beyond immortality.
Beyond death.
Beyond limitation.
And still, this was only the beginning.
Because layered beneath all of this were other authorities.
Primordial ones.
Oblivion.
Insanity.
The Black Primordial.
Rayon smiled.
Hybrid techniques began to form—powers that had never existed because no being before him could contain the contradictions required to create them.
Nine months.
That was how long he had.
And it would be enough.
—
Far away.
Trillions of light-years beyond Averis.
Beyond the upper realms.
Beyond places with names.
A table existed.
Not floating.
Not grounded.
Simply there.
Figures sat around it—humanoid, perhaps, but distorted by perspective, by time, by something deeper. Their faces remained hidden, veiled by shadow and distortion.
At the head of the table, one figure leaned back, fingers interlaced.
He smiled.
A smile that carried memory older than universes.
"So," he said pleasantly, voice smooth and amused, "Darkness has finally arrived."
The others reacted—not with surprise, but satisfaction.
"It's been eons," the figure continued, posture regal, relaxed. "Old friend."
Around the table, faint smiles appeared.
The game had begun again.
And this time—
Darkness was awake.