The Spiral hovered above the fractured platform, its form twitching like a strobe of broken thoughts. Limbs that weren't always there. A head that spun backward. Eyes that blinked sideways. Voices layered inside its voice.
"Adam," the Spiral sang, tilting at an unnatural angle. "Chaos-born. Not a god. Not a man. Just noise… given lungs."
Adam said nothing.
He stepped forward.
The Spiral pulsed—reality around it bent.
Stone twisted into bone. The stars above reformed into paper, unraveling into scripts that fluttered down like ash. The realm read itself as it changed. Sentences floated in the air:
"Adam faltered."
"The Spiral won."
"Aurora screamed."
"See?" The Spiral laughed, spinning in midair. "I rewrite the outcome. This is my domain. I am the breath of the author. The ink of the end."
Adam rolled his shoulders.
"Then shut the book."
And moved.
