The Conclave did not announce itself.
It never did.
Announcement implied uncertainty—an invitation to witness, to challenge, to respond. The Conclave did not seek response. It imposed conclusion.
Seris felt it the moment she opened her eyes.
The Abyss was still. Not quiet—still. Its endless motion had slowed to a near-imperceptible crawl, shadows suspended like ink held in water. The pulse she had begun to recognize as its breath was shallow now, restrained.
Contained.
Her heart clenched.
"They're here," she said.
Mason stood at the edge of the platform, back straight, gaze fixed on the horizon where the darkness bent unnaturally inward, as though the realm itself were being compressed.
"Yes," he replied. "All of them."
The sky did not split this time.
It folded.
Layers of reality peeled back like overlapping veils, revealing a structure that should not have been able to exist within the Abyss—a vast, geometric assembly of light and law, hovering above the darkness like a foreign organ forced into a living body.
The Conclave.
They were not individual gods now. Not aspects or avatars. They were unified—thirteen presences bound into a single, colossal will. Their forms were indistinct, constantly shifting, composed of symbols and sigils that rewrote themselves faster than Seris could read them.
Authority incarnate.
Seris felt the pressure immediately—laws pressing against her bones, definitions trying to assert themselves over her existence.
You are not permitted.
You are not sanctioned.
You are not allowed to endure.
She staggered.
Mason was beside her in an instant, one hand braced at her back, the other curling around her wrist—not restraining, not guiding.
Anchoring.
"They will try to define you," he murmured. "Do not let them."
The Conclave spoke.
Not aloud.
The words arrived already formed in Seris's mind, vast and impersonal, layered with finality.
"SERIS OF NO HOUSE, NO LINE, NO SANCTION. YOU STAND IN VIOLATION OF COSMIC CONTINUITY."
The pressure intensified.
Her vision blurred as reality itself tried to simplify her—reduce her to something manageable, something erasable.
Mason stepped forward.
"No," he said.
One word.
The Abyss reacted instantly, shadows surging toward him—but not in aggression. In defense. The realm itself braced around him, reinforcing his presence like a structural support.
"ABERRATION," the Conclave responded. "YOU HAVE NO STANDING."
Mason smiled faintly.
"I'm standing right here."
Seris felt the bond tighten—not painfully, but resolutely. Power flowed between them, not siphoned, not stolen.
Shared.
She straightened.
The pressure faltered.
"YOU CANNOT HOLD THIS REALM," the Conclave pressed. "THE ABYSS IS NOT A THRONE."
Seris took a step forward.
The shadows parted for her.
"I'm not here to rule," she said, voice steady despite the weight pressing down on her existence. "I'm here to remain."
The Conclave pulsed, sigils flaring brighter.
"PERMANENCE IS NOT YOURS TO CLAIM."
Seris raised her hand.
The silver mark flared—not violently, but with absolute clarity.
"Neither is erasure," she said.
The Abyss answered.
Not with force.
With alignment.
The realm shifted beneath her feet, reshaping itself—not into a seat, not into a crown—but into something far older.
A center.
Seris felt it settle into place—not above her, not around her.
Through her.
She was not elevated.
She was fixed.
Mason inhaled sharply as the bond responded, stabilizing, locking into a configuration that felt irrevocable. His presence strengthened, shadows threading more deeply into his form—not consuming, but reinforcing.
The Conclave recoiled.
For the first time, uncertainty rippled through its unified will.
"THIS WAS NOT FORESEEN."
Seris met the vast construct's gaze without flinching.
"Then your sight is limited," she said calmly.
The Conclave retaliated.
Reality folded inward, laws collapsing into a single, crushing vector aimed directly at her—an attempt not to destroy, but to override. To rewrite her existence into something compliant.
Mason moved without thinking.
He stepped directly into the force.
Pain tore through him as definitions tried to tear him apart—past, present, potential futures all collapsing at once. Shadows screamed as they burned away under the weight of cosmic law.
Seris screamed his name.
"Mason!"
He gritted his teeth, blood dark as shadow spilling from his mouth—but he did not move.
He did not yield.
"You don't get to rewrite her," he snarled, voice fractured but unbroken. "You don't get to touch her without going through me."
The bond flared blindingly bright.
Seris felt his pain like it was her own.
Enough.
She reached out—not with power, not with command.
With will.
The Abyss surged—not violently, but completely—surrounding Mason, absorbing the collapsing laws, dissolving them into shadow and silence.
The Conclave reeled.
Seris stepped forward, standing beside Mason now, not behind him.
"You tried to end me," she said quietly. "You failed."
She lifted her hand.
The shadows did not attack.
They defined.
Space bent around the Conclave, isolating it—not imprisoning, not erasing—but severing its influence over the Abyss entirely.
"You don't belong here," Seris said. "And you never will again."
The Conclave resisted.
For a moment.
Then—
It fractured.
Not destroyed.
Dismissed.
The structure folded in on itself, sigils unraveling, its presence withdrawing violently from the realm as though expelled by reality itself.
When it was gone, silence returned.
Not the wounded silence from before.
But something steadier.
Seris sagged.
Mason caught her, holding her upright as the last echoes of pressure faded.
"You're hurt," she said hoarsely, hands shaking as she touched his face.
He smiled faintly. "Worth it."
She pressed her forehead to his.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Yes," he said softly. "I did."
The Abyss settled fully now, its pulse deep and even.
Seris felt it then—not demand, not hunger.
Acceptance.
A place formed at the heart of the realm—not a throne, not a seat of domination—but a point of balance, a constant.
The shape of a throne that would never be sat upon.
Mason exhaled slowly.
"They'll never stop watching you now," he said.
Seris looked out into the endless dark.
"Let them," she replied.
The Abyss pulsed in agreement.
And somewhere beyond all realms, destiny adjusted itself—quietly, irrevocably.