Rex stood motionless amidst the floating debris of broken time, his breathing ragged but controlled. His body was a roadmap of violence, bruises blooming like dark flowers beneath his skin, fresh blood still sluggishly trickling from the reopened wounds where his regeneration was still fighting to reassert his timeline.
Through the haze of pain, his eyes remained locked on Kaeleth, piercing through the shimmering amber fog of the domain.
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring about to snap. The very air seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the revelation that would shift the fundamental calculus of this confrontation.
"The patron is Lustia," Rex said.
He didn't shout it. He spoke the name with a calm, terrifying certainty, letting it bleed into the domain's ambient medium.
He watched as the name rippled through the golden symbols, understanding that this wasn't just a name; it was a political grenade thrown into the center of the divine hierarchy.
