The sky fractures.
Not with light.
Not with thunder.
But with absence.
A stillness so absolute, the stars recoil.
And from that hollow silence, he steps forward
The Void Prince.
Clad in robes of undone time.
Eyes like black holes.
Voice that doesn't echo, it erases.
"So… you are the rewritten queen," he says,
"Half soul, half storm."
"I am what prophecy failed to imagine," Elóranth answers.
But her voice warps.
Because around him, even sound bends to fear.
He carries no blade.
No staff.
No relic.
He carries one thing only
A scroll.
Made from the skin of forgotten gods.
Inscribed with names that no longer exist
except in him.
He doesn't fight with magic.
He fights with memory's destruction.
"You think your past is strength?" he asks.
"Then let me remove it."
He speaks one name from the scroll
"Asher."
And Elóranth gasps
Because the soul she just fused vanishes from her chest
like mist in moonlight.
"You can't take him," she snarls.
"I already did," he murmurs.
"Three memories ago."
And she feels the loss like fire in her lungs.
The Queen stumbles.
Even Eristra falls silent.
This enemy doesn't aim to destroy.
He aims to unmake.
Elóranth trembles.
Until the Queen of Silence speaks.
"He eats what is remembered."
"So give him what cannot be written."
Elóranth closes her eyes.
And from her lips, she does not cast a spell.
She sings.
Not a song of words.
But of feeling.
A lullaby born from the pain of betrayal.
The joy of stolen kisses.
The power of choosing herself again and again.
The Void Prince flinches.
Because he cannot consume what has no name,
Only truth.
"You… cheat fate," he rasps.
"No," Elóranth replies.
"I rewrite it."
With a single breath, she pulls the unspoken back into herself Asher's presence.
Her defiance.
Her grief, raw and real.
And the scroll?
It catches fire.
Not with flame.
But with her will.