"The crown… what a pitiful thing. Once it sat upon my head, and the stars bent their light for me. Yet in the end, even gods are nothing but dust scattered before the void."
The crown lay heavy in his hand.
His fingers clenched around the broken diadem. It splintered into motes of light, dissolving into the dark.
No thunder marked the end, no divine chorus mourned the fall. The throne beneath him crumbled to ash, scattering into the abyss without a sound. Even the stars trembled and dimmed, unwilling to watch the last sovereign of gods breathe his final breath.
His chest rose once, then fell shallow, each breath dragging threads of divinity into dust. His gaze flickered past the ruin of heaven, past the crawling hunger of the Outer Gods, toward a silence that felt endless.
"I tore apart eternity with my hands. I fed my blood to the roots of the world, rewrote its withering script, and left behind nothing but silence. To preserve what remained… I erased myself."
