Noah descended into the storm.
The terminal infinity raged around him in obsidian gray currents that would have ended weak Ordovician Paleozoic Scale beings on contact, the unstable First Cause warring against itself across the space, definition and Undefinition tearing at each other in fronts that shifted faster than most perception could track.
THE Aura of THE Source Barbarian held it all away from him, the obsidian gold layer over his existence treating the storm as a condition to move through rather than a threat to survive.
He came near the little girl.
She turned in the storm she was holding back, and as he approached, her voice reached out to him. Small. Tender. Carrying beneath it the constant strain of someone speaking through pain that never stopped.
"You shouldn't be here...Sir." Her eyes found him, wide and young and exhausted in a way that no child's eyes should ever have been.
