The Cosmic Council's chamber existed in the space between spaces, suspended in a void that predated the concept of location. Twelve thrones of crystallized concept arranged themselves in a perfect circle, each one occupied by a being whose existence transcended the limitations that defined ordinary consciousness.
Today, that ancient chamber thrummed with something it hadn't experienced in eons: panic.
"The readings are off the scale," declared Xerion the Lawkeeper, his form a constantly shifting geometry of pure order. Where his attention focused, reality solidified into rigid mathematical perfection. "Seven million consciousness patterns simultaneously achieving transcendence. The probability matrices are collapsing."
