They buried him without a tomb.
No stone.No grave.Just silence.
No inscription to mark the god they had unmade. No chant, no lamentation, no final words of warning to echo through the ages. They didn't even whisper what they had done.
They just buried him.
Deep beneath the fractured core of the Null Realm, in a space where dimensions tangled and reality frayed like torn fabric, they sealed him.
Not with chains.
With absence.
They erased the idea of movement. They erased space. They removed the possibility of interaction. His prison wasn't made of walls—it was made of nothing. There was no ground, no air, no direction. The fabric of existence folded inward around him until it no longer recognized itself.
He could not see. He could not speak.He could not even move.
But he felt.
Not through nerves. Not through touch. But with the slow, vast awareness of a being who had once seen the machinery of reality—and now felt it turn without him.
He felt every shift in the stasis field. Every cold adjustment of the divine lock. Every change in pressure as the world above tried to move on, dragging his memory like a stone tied to its ankles.
Above, the Null Realm staggered forward.A broken kingdom carried by cracked hands.
The surviving gods walked the marble corridors with hollow steps.They rebuilt temples that echoed with guilt.They restructured laws.They silenced history.
They no longer spoke of him.
Not out loud.Not even in thought.
His name had become a fracture. A fault line buried beneath divine ceremony. To utter it was to risk reminding the world of what they had done.
So they let silence grow.
Not the soft silence of mourning.But the kind that creeps.The kind that strangles.
A quiet that chokes memory like vines curling around a toppled statue.
And they called it mercy.
Only one returned.
Liri.
The youngest of them. The Twentieth.Still new enough to remember pain.Still human enough to feel it.
He came to the edge of the dimensional fold—just outside the boundary of Caelum's erasure. A place where sound died and thought bled away.
He did not speak.He did not beg forgiveness.He simply sat.
Sometimes, he cried.
The sobs never reached the sealed realm. But their weight did. Like distant thunder on the bones of a collapsed monument. Like pressure building inside a space that wasn't supposed to feel anymore.
Caelum could not hear.
But he knew.
The world believed him gone.Forgotten.
But he was becoming.
Time bent strangely in the pit.It did not pass. It unraveled.
Moments stretched, collapsed, repeated.
Caelum lost track of centuries. Of cycles. Of how many times he counted his own heartbeat before remembering he no longer had one.
But he did not forget.
He couldn't.
His mind—sharpened by stillness, honed by betrayal—became a blade. He replayed the past not like a memory, but like a ritual.
Nori's laughter.The way her breath caught when surprised.How she used silence, not as retreat—but as rebellion.The way she told him he was not wrong for feeling.
And then—
Every god who turned their back.The hands that joined the Song.The eyes that looked away.The voices that voted to erase love and call it stability.
He remembered every one of them.
And remembering shaped him.
The silence changed.
It stopped being a punishment.
It became a whetstone.
It became a forge.
A crucible not of fire—but of thought. Of pain. Of clarity.
He no longer needed light.Or voice.Or flesh.
He found something deeper.
Not revenge.
Not hatred.
But something worse.
Focus.
The kind of focus born not from fury, but from cold understanding.
From having nothing left but memory.
He became still—in a way that altered the space around him. A stillness that didn't ask to be noticed, but made the world aware of itself in his presence.
A stillness with gravity.
The kind of stillness that waits.
That watches.
That decides.
And one day—
After epochs had passed, and the Null Realm no longer remembered what it feared—
He opened his eye.
Just once.
And the stasis shivered.
Not cracked. Not shattered.
Just… moved.
Slightly.
But it was enough.
A new whisper rose in the hollow halls.
An echo threaded through fractured dimensions.And in the silence left by a god's absence, others began to feel a shift—an unease that tugged at the foundations of their existence.
A presence was missing.
Something once taken for granted began to unravel.
The halls grew quieter. The memories faded. The gods walked with lighter steps, but heavier hearts.
And then—
The footsteps stopped.
The gods began to vanish.