Ash's shape gradually took form as the final wisps of the cocoon drifted off like dying embers.
The golden glow that had cloaked him receded at a slow, almost hesitant pace, as if even the light was reluctant to unveil what had emerged from fifty thousand years of silence.
First came the outline—vast and towering, a silhouette stretching hundreds of feet into the void, making cosmic roads and far-off galaxies seem insignificant. Its sheer size pressed on the limits of perception, shrinking the infinite.
Then the details came into focus.
Alabaster skin, flawless and radiant, without a single blemish or vein, as if sculpted from pure marble bathed in starlight. Long white hair flowed like liquid moonlight, drifting weightlessly yet heavy with presence, each strand moving in an invisible current.
Four sleek black horns curved back from his brow, smooth as obsidian and perfectly symmetrical, each traced with faint golden veins that pulsed once before fading.
