The white void stretched endlessly.
A man hung suspended within it — wrapped in golden chains from neck to ankle.
Seven-hundred and ninety-nine chains remained.
In the far distance, a leviathan roared.
Not with anger…
but with grief.
Its cry rippled through the void like a dying star collapsing.
A hooded man appeared beside the sealed figure, his steps making no sound.
He spoke softly.
"Do you like tragedies?"
Silence.
"Old friend."
The chained figure did not respond.
It stared forward — expressionless, faceless — watching the abyssal horizon as black holes bloomed across it like bruises on reality.
Above them spun a single star.
Strange.
Unnatural.
It rotated at impossible speeds, radiating a light so sharp it felt like gravity bent itself to obey the star's presence.
The hooded man looked up at it.
"Magnetars," he murmured.
"How fascinating."
Still, the sealed one did not reply.
The hooded man sat down slowly.
His face was hidden within the shadows of his hood, but the shape of him was unmistakably human.
He exhaled.
"My favourite tragedy," he said gently.
"Romeo and Juliet."
Silence again.
"I love theatre. Don't you?"
The chained figure remained utterly still.
Unmoving.
Unreacting.
Unacknowledging.
The hooded man continued:
"It's happening soon, you know.
A destructive event that changes everything."
He paused.
"I can't tell if I'm excited…
angry…
or upset."
His voice grew quieter.
"What about you, old friend?"
For the first time, the sealed one moved.
Its head — a smooth, black silhouette with eyes as white as the void — turned slowly toward the hooded figure.
And yet…
The hooded man was already gone.
Vanished without a sound.
The leviathan cried again — louder this time — its voice trembling through the void.
Far away, new stars were born.
And each birth sounded like a rumble of distant thunder.
The sealed figure did not blink.
It only stared.
As the golden chains tightened.
And the void waited.