The countless resources below exploded into a golden cloud of runes, merging with Uriel's soul as everything fused into Elura's egg. The egg began to shift, its shell rippling like liquid metal, its shape warping and morphing with every passing second, but Caine paid it no mind.
The brand on his heart burned fiercely, illuminating his chest with golden light, while above his head, the faint outline of his crown flickered into existence.
The threads of fate, seared into his hands, began to pulse and glow madly, as though they were molten iron branding his flesh.
He reached forward, gripping the fabric of space as if it were mere cloth, his fingers clamping down with unnatural force. As he pulled and twisted, the world itself groaned in protest. The countless storms raging above quivered and then shattered, their fragmented energy swirling toward the egg in luminous streams of condensed power.
