The underworld had grown strangely quiet. The once-pulsing red sky had dimmed into a deep violet, like a wound beginning to close. The scorched ground around them no longer burned hot; it had cooled into a soft, almost soothing chill, as if the land itself had fallen asleep after surviving a great calamity.
At the center of what was once the Palace of Emotion lay three silent figures. Black chains formed a circle around them, glowing faintly serving as a protective dome that kept the chaotic mana of the aftermath at bay. And in the middle of that circle… Sylvia slowly opened her eyes.
Her first sight was not the sky, nor the ground, nor the charred face of Dantalion but something soft and large pressing against her face, blinding her completely.
"…What… is this…" she rasped, voice hoarse.
She tried to move, but all she could see was a soft gray-white fabric that filled her entire vision.
