The dust of the fallen Throneborne settled—whispers in the void.
Kael stood alone, his heart still beating, but not with the life it once had. The remnants of the Six—gods of creation, entropy, death, and everything in-between—lay shattered like the fractured pieces of a broken reality.
But Kael felt no victory. Only hunger.
For even the strongest of divinities are but fragments in the grand design. And Kael? He had tasted their essence, felt the raw power surge through his form like molten stars. But now—now he was ready to consume them, to reshape himself into something more.
His eyes burned with the Weave, a silken web of infinite possibility, and it whispered the next step.
Consume. Absorb. Become.
Kael's fingers curled into fists. The threads of existence swirled around him, as if in anticipation. His form trembled, not from weakness, but from the immensity of what he was about to take.
Zeravon, the Ash Architect, was the first.
The architect's hammer, once a tool of creation, now lay as nothing but ash in Kael's palm. With a thought, Kael wove through time itself, unraveling the fabric of creation. Zeravon's form faded into the Weave, but not before Kael ripped the very essence of time, entropy, and creation from his being.
A flood of raw energy poured into Kael—divine heat, unfathomable power, and the ever-churning chaos of entropy—coursing through his veins like a primal force. His chest expanded, his body crackling with the new power.
But he was far from finished.
Velthra, the Siren of Ends, beckoned next.
Her voice, once able to shatter worlds, became no more than a whisper in Kael's presence. With a swift motion, he wrapped his fingers around the threads of fate, death, and the end of all things. The moment her voice fell silent, Kael pulled her essence into him, consuming her final song, the resonance of death, and the echo of eternity. Her form, ethereal as a dream, dissolved into pure silence, joining the expanding Weave inside Kael.
Then came Solthren, the Flame Prophet, whose fire had once burned the skies with the fury of a thousand suns.
Kael stepped forward, extending his palm, and the air around him ignited. He wove the power of primordial flame, ever-burning light, and the eternal sun into a vortex, swallowing Solthren's fiery form. The flames surged within Kael, fueling him, reshaping him—his skin now radiated with a brilliance, a fire that could scorch both worlds and hearts.
Kael's aura flared, the flames of creation and destruction mingling as his power grew.
But the harvest was not complete.
Draevos, the Dread Vine, raised his thorned hands, summoning the roots of time, life, and decay. Kael's fingers flexed, and with a sharp, decisive motion, he tore the vine's essence free, ripping it from the very fabric of existence. He absorbed life itself—the pulse of the world's creation, the death of stars, and the endless cycle of rebirth.
Draevos crumbled into dust, his power now flowing through Kael's veins. His blood became the river of nature, and his bones sang with the roots of time.
And then—
The final god.
Malqirion, who had always grinned in the face of destruction, who had weaved the threads of fate like a puppeteer, who had challenged Kael to prove his worth.
Malqirion's mask shattered like glass.
Kael's hand extended, and with a thought, he unraveled the very fabric of Time—the god's greatest domain. Malqirion's essence—fate, endings, and the ripple of eternity—was pulled from his form, drawn into Kael's grasp.
Kael didn't just take.
He consumed.
Every god, every divine thread, now existed as part of him.
The gods' powers merged into a singularity—a cosmic storm that rippled through the very core of the multiverse. Kael's form exploded with raw energy, brighter than the sun, more dangerous than a black hole. His fingers sparkled with divine energy. His body, no longer mortal, now pulsated with the essence of the divine.
Kael exhaled deeply, and in that breath, he heard the echoes of their last cries. A cosmic symphony of triumph, loss, and the surrender of power.
But as the gods' final power coursed through him, Kael stood still. His eyes, now glowing with the energy of a thousand worlds, gazed out into the void.
For the first time, he felt it.
The weight of everything.
Kael had consumed the gods, taken their essence, and risen above the fabric of reality itself. But the question burned in the back of his mind:
Was this enough?
He reached up, running his fingers through his hair, now woven with strands of starlight.
He had become the Weave. The Master of Time, of Life, of Death, and the Space between.
But in the silence that followed, Kael realized—he was no longer just a god.
He was the Weave itself.
And there was nothing left to fear