The chamber seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was the wet, rhythmic choking of Kaeleth as his body desperately tried to repair the impossible violation of his own soul.
Rex's arm was buried to the elbow within the divine architecture of the god's essence, his fingers twitching as they navigated the labyrinth of celestial code.
It was not hard to find. Among everything that Kaeleth's soul register contained—the millennia of accumulated power, the fragmented echoes of ancient prayers, the complex weaves of divine will—the Aethelgard anchor was the brightest component.
It shone with a cold, absolute light, a focal point of reality that anchored the domain to the timeline itself.
It was the specific piece that had been most actively engaged over the period of the contract with Celestina, organized around the specific configuration of temporal authority applied to a defined location.
