The silence that followed was not the void’s quiet. It was the stunned hush after a cataclysm. The shrieking wind of unraveled reality died. The swirling vortex of stolen stars above them froze, its colors fixed in a terrifying mosaic. The very air grew still and thick, holding its breath. In Morganna’s hand, the new blade hummed, a low, primal thrum that vibrated in their bones. It was the sound of power waiting for a command.
Marcus was the first to break the stillness, his soldier’s instincts overriding his awe. “What did we just do?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the shifting metal of the sword. It was beautiful and terrible, a river of molten silver and gold with veins of captured crimson lightning running through it.
“We forged the key,” Bran whispered, his voice ragged with exhausti
