He exhaled, a laugh that wasn't one, bitter and cold. "So let's see what burns."
With a flick of his hand, the air shifted. The faint hum of divinity reawakened beneath his feet, the same pulse Adler had tried to control, only now it answered to Uno. Gold threads of ether rose from the cracks in the marble, crawling up like roots, weaving symbols he hadn't used in centuries.
Anna's body was gone, but her echo remained, a resonance of pain, faith, and failure. Uno traced a hand through it, watching the threads coil around his fingers like smoke. The energy was raw, volatile, and half-born.
"Look at you," he murmured. "A tragedy with potential."
He could make it work. He could finish what Adler started, strip the concept of fate entirely and force it into a new form, something untethered from both creation and consequence.
It would hurt, yes. It would cost him more than time or worship. But what was that compared to the silence Connor had left him in?