The throne pulsed with agreement, as if demanding the answer itself.
He sighed, not in weariness, but in inevitability. His hand raised, and the crimson tendrils of the throne reached outward, stretching across space, curling around Volarisa's edges like vines of living sovereignty. He had thought to leave it free, untouched… but he could no longer afford the luxury of hesitation.
"Then let it be so," Asher murmured, pressing his palm into the armrest.
The twelfth seal ignited.
The Throne of Ten Stellar Galaxies—now Twelve—roared like a living entity, its runes burning so bright that stars across its domain flickered in resonance.
And far beyond, in dimensions unseen, higher beings stirred. For such a throne was never meant to exist in the lower dimension. Each seal he forged was a defiance of order, a slap across the face of ancient laws that governed the cosmos.
