The crowned stranger stepped fully into the chamber.
The rift behind him widened, spilling dark mist across the stone floor like liquid shadow. The air grew heavy, thick enough that Luna struggled to draw breath, each inhale feeling like swallowing syrup.
He studied her like she was an interesting puzzle piece that didn't quite fit anywhere.
"So fragile," he murmured, voice carrying notes of genuine curiosity. "And yet you broke something eternal."
Luna forced herself to stand straight despite the trembling in her legs, despite the exhaustion weighing down her bones. The throne loomed behind her, wounded but not destroyed, still alive somehow. Its tendrils twitched like injured snakes testing the air.
"Answer my question," she demanded, trying to sound braver than she felt. "Who are you?"
The stranger's smile was faint but sharp as a blade.
"I am the Correction."
The word sent ice through her veins.
