The pulse came again. It was the familiar soul fluctuations that had been with him for several lifetimes.
Fu Ling's eyelashes trembled. The pulse echoed a third time, deep and languid. The very air thickened, the divine light bending, swirling into a spiral above the broken throne.
Colors bled together. Silver, gold, and darkness entwined in perfect balance. Then, out of that maelstrom, a figure began to take shape.
Bare feet touched the fractured floor. Robes of black threaded with faint streaks of light draped across a tall frame.
His hair fell loosely, dark as the void and faintly glowing at the tips where it caught the starfire. His presence was calm, but the world itself bent around him, kneeling in quiet reverence.
Fu Ling's breath caught as he said the name again, with more surety this time.
"Chaos."
The man opened his eyes. He looked at Fu Ling with calmness.
"My Lord. You've returned."
Fu Ling winced at the unfamiliar address.
"Fu Ling. Call me Fu Ling."
