Azrael's chest heaved, and his eyes blurred.
A world of unknown was now in front of him.
The hall vanished, and so did his throne.
Azrael felt no ground beneath his feet, no air in his lungs, yet he was not suffocating.
He existed in a place where those things had never been needed.
Light moved around him, not as brightness but as information.
Threads stretched in every direction, crossing, splitting, knotting together.
Those threads intertwined, creating a river of silver light that flowed in the darkness of space.
Azrael steadied himself, still in awe of what he was seeing.
"…So this is it," he said quietly.
The Goddess of Fate did not appear beside him.
Her presence was everywhere instead, woven into the space itself.
As he looked around, Azrael slowly noticed something.
His body moved back, and he could clearly see the river of Fate.
It was flowing in a circle.
The beginning was the end, and the end was the beginning.
