Kafka's heart skipped.
The gods around him bowed their heads, silent in reverence, as though witnessing prophecy unfold.
Meanwhile, Vanitas herself, the announcer of the new was still frozen in midair.
For several long moments, the normally composed, haughty goddess looked utterly lost, her eyes darting between her son and the tree that was still cycling through death and rebirth.
Then, as the realization sank in—what she had said, what she had just recognized—her body trembled.
A spark of disbelief turned into an uncontrollable rush of emotion.
"My son...My son…" She whispered, almost breathless, her voice rising with every repetition. "My son—a True Sovereign of Life and Death—oh my god...oh my god!"
Her eyes lit up with feverish joy as she clasped her hands together.
