There was silence.
Not the absence of sound, but the hollow hush of something far worse—the silence of meaning forgotten, of memory erased.
Aiden stood alone at the boundary of what remained. Behind him, fragments of a broken cosmos flickered in and out of coherence—like a dream being forgotten mid-sentence. Ahead, only the dark.
Not darkness as in night. Not shadow. But unbeing—the encroaching tide of the Outer Gods' final truth.
They had grown bolder.
With the Eye sealed, the Chronicle Mother slain, the Thought That Never Was banished, and the Before-God cast out, they had regrouped. Not as individuals, but as a singular force of erasure. No longer did they whisper. Now, they roared.
And still Aiden stood.
His sword—once golden and abyssal, once the fulcrum upon which fate turned—was now something quieter. Not duller, not dimmer. Just... more refined. It pulsed like a heartbeat, not against time or destiny, but against the silence itself.
He called it The Last Law.
