The silence after the Starcore’s awakening was heavier than the preceding thunder. It was a profound, resonant quiet, filled not with absence, but with power now held in check. Ren stood at the center of it, the storm within him finally, truly, still. He flexed his hand, watching the clean light of the Core glint off his knuckles. No shadow. No corruption. Just the steady, terrifying hum of potential.
Lyra was the first to move. She didn’t go to Ren. She walked to the edge of the platform, her gaze fixed on the dormant form of Mareth. The former guardian looked shrunken, his Tribunal robes pooling around him like a discarded skin. The ageless weariness on his face had deepened into absolute defeat.
“He’s still breathing,” she said, her voice soft but carrying in the vast space. It wasn’t
