White.
Not light, light implied contrast, implied shadow, implied choice.
Not emptiness, emptiness implied something had once been there.
White like unwritten space.
Like the page before the first word.
Kael couldn't feel his body.
Couldn't feel Luna's hand in his.
Couldn't feel the sigil burning on his chest.
For the first time since the fracture had torn open their reality
There was no tether pulling at him.
No Devourer humming through his consciousness.
No dying stars demanding his attention.
Just awareness.
Pure. Isolated. Terrifyingly alone.
Then
The sound returned.
A low hum, rhythmic and vast, like something breathing beneath reality itself, the lungs of existence drawing breath.
The white began thinning.
Not fading, structuring.
Lines appeared in the emptiness. Not straight. Not curved. Concepts forming geometry that shouldn't be possible, angles that hurt to perceive directly.
