The second throne's emergence did not end with stone and light.
The chamber itself seemed to reel from the act, as though reality had been struck by something beyond mortal comprehension. The walls convulsed in slow, seismic undulations, like waves trapped inside a prison of rock, each tremor pressing outward in rhythm with a colossal, unseen heartbeat. The once-stable veins of luminescence—those delicate, webbed lines glowing faintly across the cavern's expanse—no longer shone with any rhythm that belonged to order. They flickered and faltered, sputtering like dying embers, breaking in their cadence as though they had forgotten what it meant to beat. The chamber dimmed and brightened in erratic pulses, one moment drowning them in shadow, the next searing their vision in brilliance. It was not mere collapse. It was the convulsion of something waking.
