The light from the throne swallowed everything.
Luna felt heat first, then cold, then nothing at all.
Her grip tightened around Kael's hand as the world screamed.
Reality shattered.
Not exploded. Peeled.
Layers of existence tore apart like wet paper, revealing raw nothing beneath. Memories bled into moments that had not happened yet, futures collapsing into pasts, all chronology dissolving into chaos.
Luna saw herself as a child, running barefoot under a silver moon.
Saw Kael standing over her grave, older, broken, alone.
Saw the throne empty.
Saw it full.
Saw it burning.
All at once.
All equally real.
Her mind burned trying to hold contradictions that should never coexist.
"Luna."
Kael's voice cut through the chaos like a blade through fog.
Real.
Human.
Anchor.
She turned toward him, heart leaping with desperate hope.
His eyes were no longer void-black. They were silver again, shaking with effort, full of pain—but his again.
"Kael?" she gasped.
