The silence broke.
A shiver rolled through the world itself as the chains that bound the unseen gate groaned again—louder this time. No longer whispers, but thunder echoing through the marrow of existence.
Je collapsed to his knees, clutching his skull as the sound pierced bone and thought alike. It wasn't only heard—it was remembered. Ancient, older than memory itself.
[Critical Warning: Anchor Breach — 3.7%]
The system's voice flickered into existence, warped, torn apart by unseen interference. Yet one truth clawed its way out:
> "You were never meant to see this."
The air trembled. The shadows deepened. A single chain, burning with light older than stars, snapped.
For an instant, Je saw it all:
—Eyes that burned with the void.
—Hands that forged galaxies only to crush them for sport.
—A crown floating on a throne made not of gold, but of the dead.
And then—darkness.
A voice, closer than his own heartbeat, breathed into him.
> "Little devourer… do you think you are the first? Do you think you are alone?"
The world tilted. The ground vanished beneath his feet. Je was no longer standing anywhere.
He was falling—through reality itself.