He saw the Supreme God.
The Great Architect was currently sprawled out on a cloud of nebulae, a gossamer handkerchief draped over his face, snoring with the rhythmic intensity of a localized thunderstorm. He looked bored. He looked idle. He looked like he hadn't moved in a thousand years.
"Sleeping," the Under Realm God spat, his voice dripping with venom. "The Golden One sleeps while his realm rots. If it wasn't him... then who?"
He turned his attention back to Seraphine. She was standing at the entrance to the Core Room, her posture too straight, her eyes too bright. The Qi humming in her veins wasn't the jagged, frantic energy of a mortal—it was stable, warm, and disgustingly pure. It was a drop of the Sun trapped in a vessel of clay.
He slammed his fist onto the arm of his throne. The impact sent a shockwave through the dungeon, causing the Mirror Forest to vibrate so violently that a thousand glass leaves shattered at once.
