The platform outside of time and space no longer felt like a platform at all—it felt like the axis of existence itself. With every seat claimed, the air vibrated in a resonance no mortal, no god, no star could withstand. The presence of the Seven was not addition—it was multiplication, infinity feeding into infinity until the void itself seemed ready to bow.
They were the pillars of all that is.
Destruction, red hair ablaze with violet streaks, leaned forward in his throne, his aura gnawing at the void, each breath tearing at creation itself.
Chaos, ever-shifting, flickered with laughter and terror, his seat warping as though it might dissolve, yet never quite falling apart.
Life, radiant and unyielding, sat with her hands folded, her emerald presence breathing vitality into the emptiness, every inhale birthing light, every exhale silencing entropy.
