The stench of burnt mana lingered in the air like a funeral pyre's smoke.
Valerian stood motionless, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths as he stared at the scattered remains of his fallen mirror. The creature that had worn his face—that had spoken with his voice—was nothing more than crystalline dust now, glittering like broken dreams across the obsidian platform. The Rewrite Core had given him power beyond mortal comprehension, beyond reason itself—but he could still feel its ancient code whispering beneath his skin like parasites burrowing through his veins. Lines of System script, older than kingdoms, flickered across his vision like ghostly scars etched in fire.
Each symbol burned. Each line of code felt like a brand.
Selene's fingers found his arm, her touch gentle but insistent. "You're shaking."
