When Solvane's body fell, his mind did not vanish into nothingness.
Instead, he opened his eyes into a silence he could not describe.
He stood in a vast expanse where there was no ground, no sky—only endless darkness stretching in every direction. Yet he felt no fear. The pain that had torn him apart moments before was gone. In fact, he felt better than he ever had—stronger, lighter, whole.
A terrible thought crossed him.
"Am I… dead?" he whispered. His own voice echoed strangely, as if the void itself repeated his words.
He looked down at his hands—steady, unbroken. No wounds, no blood. He touched his chest—no shattered ribs, only smooth skin.
"I can't believe it," he muttered, his voice trembling. "I died… and in such a brutal way, too."
He sighed, his breath vanishing into the nothingness. With no path to follow, he simply walked forward. Each step made no sound.
Then he saw her.
A figure in the distance, clothed in white. Feminine. Her tunic shimmered faintly, glowing against the dark. Long reddish hair spilled over her shoulders, contrasting with the pale gown that seemed to flow like water. One sleeve was cut short, hooked across her arm in a way that looked ceremonial, almost sacred.
Solvane froze. His chest tightened.
He couldn't place her—yet something deep within him whispered that he knew this woman. That he had met her before. That she mattered.
He stepped closer. The figure turned, slowly, as if sensing him.
And when she faced him, his breath caught.
She had no face.
No eyes, no mouth. Only smooth skin where features should have been. Yet somehow, she smiled. And tears—real, glistening tears—poured down her unseen cheeks, falling endlessly as though her sorrow could not be contained.
The sight struck Solvane like a blade to the heart.
He didn't know why, but pain welled up inside him. Not physical pain, but something far worse. A grief so heavy it stole his breath. Tears blurred his own vision before he realized he was crying too—helpless, uncontrollable sobs spilling down his face.
He staggered forward, then broke into a run.
The woman raised her arms, reaching for him, as if expecting his embrace.
He didn't know why, but he knew—*if he could just hold her, it would feel better.* That ache inside would ease. That sorrow would lift.
He ran faster, his hands outstretched.
But just as he was about to reach her—
She was pulled away.
A massive arm, glowing with orange fur, wrapped around her and yanked her back.
Another figure had appeared.
Not like her. Not yellow, but orange—fur shining so bright it was like the sun itself burned within him. His form towered above them both, not with sheer muscle but with overwhelming presence, an aura so immense it seemed to fill the void itself.
Solvane stumbled to a halt, his breath catching.
The giant figure's face was hidden in shadow, but Solvane sensed no malice. No threat. Only raw power, ancient and terrible.
He tried to speak, but before words left his mouth, the orange Asper shook his head slowly, disapprovingly, as though warning him against something he could not yet understand.
Then came the roar.
Not a shriek. Not a scream.
A roar that split the void in two, deeper than thunder, shaking the very fabric of the darkness. It reverberated through Solvane's bones, through his soul, until he felt himself unraveling.
The woman in white—her faceless form still weeping—reached one hand toward him as she was dragged further back into the void.
And then she waved.
A small, gentle wave.
Before she turned away.
The roar swallowed everything. The void collapsed.
And Solvane vanished