Ren opened his eyes to silence.
Not the crushing silence of the void—this was different. A stillness heavy with aftermath, as though the world itself had just exhaled after holding its breath.
The ground beneath him was fractured glass, jagged yet soft with glowing embers. Each shard reflected a piece of his face—burnt, bloodied, exhausted, but alive. His body ached, his lungs rasped, but the vow-thread still pulsed faintly above his chest, glowing like a fragile heartbeat of light.
He pushed himself upright. The battlefield where he had fought the embodiment was gone. No storm of chains, no silver eye glaring down—only broken remnants scattered into the infinite dark. Fragments of shattered links floated aimlessly, dissolving into ash.
Ren let out a shaky laugh, half relief, half disbelief.
"…I actually did it."
