The relief lasted exactly seven seconds.
Then the crying started.
Not in Black Hollow.
Not in the sky.
Everywhere.
The sound—or what passed for sound—rolled through existence itself.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Release.
Ten thousand years of loneliness finally finding somewhere to go.
People throughout Black Hollow fell to their knees.
Not because they were hurt.
Because they could feel it.
The grief of an entire world.
The grief of being the first to fail.
The grief of watching every other reality live and die while you remained behind.
The throne beneath Draven Ridge continued pulsing.
Steady.
Patient.
Present.
The same way Kael's hand remained wrapped around Midnight's.
The same way the Shore had waited for Seraphine.
The same lesson.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Nobod
