For some reason it felt like the entire rest of the world had become a sea of black, white, and grey. There was nothing that Sylas could focus on but the feather itself.
It drifted down, not just pulling on the winds that caressed it, but even the lines of the Mesh of Reality itself. Spacetime bent and twisted to its whims as though it wasn't as light as a feather at all, but instead carrying the mass of an entire world with it.
And then it landed in Sylas' palm.
Despite the changes, despite the variation, it was almost like it was always meant to land exactly there, like it couldn't have ever landed somewhere else. No amount of chaos, or tweaks, or changes in the wind or even spacetime itself could have changed where the feather wanted itself to land.
And the moment Sylas touched it, it was like something had seized his heart, gripping it hard and refusing to let go. His Pride Seed wilted as though it was meeting a Seed far beyond itself.
