Azhrael was afraid.
The realization echoed through the abyss like thunder.
Not panic.
Not weakness.
Fear.
Pure and genuine.
The Devourer Beyond Worlds—the thing that had consumed civilizations, broken realities, and outlived empires—was afraid.
Not of Midnight.
Not of Kael.
Of possibility.
The throne pulsed.
Silver light spread across the mountain.
The guardian wolves felt it too.
The Hollow King felt it.
Malakar felt it.
Everyone did.
For the first time since Azhrael appeared, the future was uncertain.
And uncertainty terrified something that survived by believing every ending was inevitable.
Azhrael's voice shook existence.
YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM.
Midnight stepped closer to the throne.
The silver light wrapped around her body.
Warm.
Ancient.
Alive.
"No."
