The silence that crowned him did not fade.
It deepened. It thickened, folding upon itself like a living shroud, until even the memory of sound felt sacrilegious, a trespass against something older and greater than mortal breath. The cavern no longer resembled stone hollowed out by time it had become a vessel vast enough to cradle eternity itself. The walls were not walls, but ribs of some unseen giant, curving around them as if to shelter or entomb. Shadows multiplied in the folds of rock, not retreating from the silver light but feeding upon it, curling like veins of smoke through bone and void alike. And in that suffocating stillness, the air began to hum. It was not a vibration one could hear, but one that pressed against marrow, a low resonance of inevitability. It felt as though the cavern itself was holding its breath, waiting for the hand of destiny to fall.
