Veylor stood in silence.
The last obelisk folded in on itself, and he felt it—like someone had closed a door in his chest. The whispering mouths were gone. The mimics he had sculpted from raw nullspace, erased. Kael'Thar had torn through the last one like it was paper.
And yet, Veylor didn't blink.
He stood at the center of a dead plane. A void beyond realms. The floor beneath him was a still sheet of stardust, black and endless, glowing faintly under his bare feet. His cloak swayed even though there was no wind here.
Behind him, a cracked mirror hung in the air, showing flickers of what had happened. Kael'Thar, Alexandria, the obliteration of the obelisks. Each frame played on loop. Each death. Each fracture.
A small voice would have panicked. But he didn't have that voice.
Veylor simply turned.
"Phase One is done," he said.
To no one. To everything.
