The arena was completely quiet for the first time since the gods had come.
Valthor even stopped moving. Even the aggressive reincarnators who had been fighting just a few moments before put down their weapons.
Watching someone die to protect others, not in battle but as a choice they made with full knowledge of the cost, made a space go silent in a way that nothing else could.
The smoke was still hanging around where Bork had been. The First Forge kept burning with its flames that couldn't be put out.
Greg's prosthetic hand still held the Key of Infinite Possibility, which glowed faintly.
Greg was down on his knees.
Even though he didn't remember getting down on his knees. At some point, his legs had just given out, and now he was down there in the rubble holding the clasp in both hands.
The world kept going, even though it didn't make sense for anything to keep going after what had just happened.
The Brotherhood's response happened in bits and pieces all over the arena.
