There was only silence after.
A silence so thick, even the sound of the wind seemed to hold its breath. A silence not of peace, but the kind that hovers before war, pregnant with dread.
Even Atlas was surprised.
Not by the storm above or the trembling earth beneath their feet—but by the audacity. The sheer, goddamn audacity of the old man.
Was Merlin stupid, senile—or did he have a death wish?
The words hadn't been loud. Just a whisper through the void, carried on the breath of a dying world:
<…interesting point....then get ready for my arrival….worm….>
But that smile. That damned smile Merlin gave as his blood stained the grass beneath him. Eyes cloudy but still glinting with maddening clarity.
Atlas clenched his jaw.
That smile wasn't born from delusion. It was a plan. It was always a plan.
