Lucien remained silent for a while.
Three years. Perhaps more. Perhaps not.
The number was useful, but the uncertainty behind it was not.
He looked at Aurelia.
"If the Black Mass changes," Lucien asked, "could that transformation be connected to the waking Primordial Incarnations?"
Seran's expression lost what little humor remained.
Aurelia did not answer immediately.
The light within her eyes shifted faintly as if distant threads were moving beyond a veil she could not cross.
"Perhaps," she said at last. "But I cannot confirm it."
Lucien waited.
"My visions cannot properly enter the Black Mass," Aurelia continued. "I can observe the pressure it places on fate. I can see where futures bend around it and where possibilities disappear. But the Black Mass itself remains hidden."
Seran leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
"Fuck it," he muttered. "The Primordial Slime left behind systems, worlds, relics, and enough impossible nonsense to occupy scholars for several ages."
