The silence in the wake of the erasure was not peaceful. It was furious. It was the silence of a master craftsman who has just seen his perfect work vandalized. The blank whiteness of the former Silent Realm seemed to vibrate with a suppressed, seething energy.
Metatron remained, a silent sentinel in the void. He felt the shift before he heard it. The air—or the concept of it—thickened, grew heavy with an attention so vast it could crush galaxies.
The Father was not gone. He was… focused.
A presence manifested, not as a face this time, but as a crushing point of absolute awareness in the center of the nothing. It did not speak with words. Concepts simply were, hammered into Metatron's being.
ANOMALY PERSISTS. CONTAINMENT FAILED.
