Thousands of Gigaparsecs out, at the edge of the battle, a figure moved through the forest.
It was hard to see. It was hardly there at all. A shape of obsidian and gold, half made of the same dark-barked trees and humming rivers it walked among. When the forest swayed, it swayed. When the rivers of light ran fast, it ran with them. When the wind that nobody could feel moved the gold leaves, it moved too.
A piece of Noah. The rest was still on a crimson terrace in Ruination's existence, and in a snowy little town in a forgotten Dimension, and spread thin across a hundred thousand bloomed Gaps. This piece had simply grown up out of the forest he had given to, and now it walked.
And watched.
Ahead of him, the battle filled the dark.
He could feel it pulling on everything.
Half of existence nearby was leaning toward the Nightmare.
The other half leaned toward the Legion.
