The structure surrounding Alex was vast, a towering construct of woven radiance and destiny, a loom of reality itself.
Thousands upon thousands of silver threads stretched from horizon to horizon, intersecting at impossible angles, vanishing into the void and reappearing behind him as though space had folded upon itself to make room for their existence.
Each thread shimmered faintly, connected to the pulse of existence itself. The world felt free but also seemed to hesitate, as if awaiting permission to move.
This alien effect on reality was all too clear within the world painted by the eyes of the Ancient.
Alex's domain of nothingness grew around him as a dark mantle, erasing light, form, and intent wherever it touched.
Yet the loom resisted.
The threads of fate coiled around the edges of his domain like dense spider webs, weaving barriers of inevitability that forced the nothingness back.
