It was so silent, trapped in that abyss, where even the light seemed to have vanished. Saint's mind went completely still, motionless.

  The quiet whispers that had arisen to try to understand her surroundings and how she fit into them had ceased, repced by a strange sense of peace. There was nothing to understand, nothing to think about, no reason for change when the world around her seemed static.

  It was a strange, yet familiar feeling. Like returning to the forge before her birth, before the spark of life. But not only was the pce different, she herself had changed. Even when surrounded by an abyss, she herself was a spark of change that disturbed the world. It didn't matter if she was a shadow or a representation of darkness; before nothingness, she herself seemed to fill that space with her presence.

  Her shadow stirred, perhaps uncomfortably, perhaps bored. They had been falling for days with no end in sight, but she could feel it; that vast, ancient shadow reacted to her presence, calling to her.

  Her chest heaved, as if her heart were pounding with emotion. It was drawing nearer, and the distant stars confirmed her suspicion.

  The hiss of a serpent called to her from her shoulder, where a serpent of shadows stared directly into her eyes.

  It was true; she still had a job to do, and what better pce than this, where both shadows and darkness lurked in its corners?

  Once again, her bright ruby ??eyes dimmed like a silent dream.

  …

  In the middle of an abyss, seemingly without end, an isnd of bck stone floated silently in that space, motionless, as if frozen in time for eons.

  It was then that a strange sound shattered the perpetual peace. It began as a whisper, which quickly grew louder. Like a meteorite falling and a dragon's wings fpping, a blob hurtled from the sky straight into the center of the structure.

  The impact was devastating; a thunderous roar shook the entire isnd, as if an angel had finally stepped upon its gates. But the structure didn't even crack, and though powerful, Saint's graceful figure was far from resembling those macabre creatures.

  Long, feathered wings unfurled, revealing Saint's figure shrouded among the wreckage. Maintaining the shadows to form those wings had been easy, even more so with the help of his own shadow; doing so when his own body was torn to pieces was not so simple.

  The tall, pristine figure of the proud knight was now a distant memory. Her armor glowed red-hot, struggling to avoid melting. Her body was seared by the fmes of the divine, tearing even at her once indestructible soul.

  She was weary, as were her two shadows, who had tried to process the impact of colliding with one of the embers of the sun god.

  For long moments, she remained completely still, allowing the air to flow through her body, even when she didn't need it. The very act seemed to calm her mind and the ever-increasing pounding of her heart.

  Finally, when the shadows had recovered enough of her body, she rose. Her steps remained steady as she advanced to the gates of the ebony tower. Her father's workshop, and the birthpce of the first imperfect offspring.

  The gates opened easily, as if thousands of years had passed since yesterday. It wasn't a surprise, for her father's craftsmanship was impeccable, just as it wasn't a surprise to notice signs of strangers. Signs of several people visiting that same structure not long ago. She didn't dwell on it for long. The pce was completely silent, the shadows of any living being long since banished.

  Wandering through the silent corridors, the intricate staircases, Saint observed with a touch of mencholy and scorned the corpses of the first offspring of the underworld. They were like inferior reflections of herself, a mockery of what she and her siblings represented, but also… a missed opportunity. If they had shown even a spark of life, something that would have set them apart from being mere puppets… what would they have achieved? Could they even surpass her? Now that she understood that perfection resided in imperfections, she was curious about what would happen if…?

  Her legs stopped momentarily before an unlit firepce, where the signs of ash marked the passage of hundreds of years of burning. An echo of the sun god's fme lingered in the air, but also a premonition of something utterly corrupt.

  Her eyes scanned the entire chamber, searching for anything that might pose a threat. Within, the shadows and darkness stirred restlessly, nervously, but not fearfully. That aberration, whatever it was, had perished long ago.

  She continued on her way.

  The pce had a muted tone, oppressed by the loneliness that weighed on those who walked its halls. For Saint, it was neither an unpleasant nor a fond experience, simply something already written.

  She knew very well the reason for her arrival; from the moment she recognized this pce, she knew her next step. Even so, she couldn't help but feel an invisible weight trying to hold onto her shoulders. Was she being maniputed? Guided by fate? Her attribute < [Predestined (incomplete)] > seemed to shine brighter, but she felt there was more than one intention that put her on that path.

  Finally, she stopped before a detailed statue of a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair, veils that moved like the tides, and a face that reminded her of her own reflection.

  The goddess of storms…

  That deity who had been everything to her father: his inspiration, his goal, his rival, and even… his love.

  She remained completely still, staring in disbelief at the figure. They had been molded in the likeness of that entity, endowed with her element, whether to fight alongside her or to kill her.

  For a time, her own destiny had been intertwined with that woman, to ride alongside her armies against corruption, but instead, it was she who succumbed to corruption when her hands were already stained with blood spilled for no good.

  She clenched her fists. Those memories were pointless now.

  It was then that she noticed it: between the statue's palms, a golden needle shone with an ethereal light. It wasn't magic, but rather, it bore traces of divinity and even destiny.

  She carefully held it between her fingers. She didn't know how, but she sensed it: that relic was nothing more and nothing less than a needle stained with the weaver's blood.

  Beside her, her shadow moved restlessly, ready to take the gleaming object in its hands. It was like a small child. An imperceptible smile appeared on its lips. It was the same as with the fragments of the soul.

  She gave it the needle to keep. Weaving wasn't her thing, runes were, but she couldn't leave such an object lying around.

  Finally, she reached her destination. It was a room like any other, empty except for the remains of discarded experiments. With a movement of her hand, the shadows cleansed the pce, and with a pulse of soul essence, she activated certain runes.

  A passageway opened in the middle of the room, revealing a staircase that led to the heart of the isnd. His footsteps echoed like the hammering of a sledgehammer against metal, until a faint light illuminated his silhouette shrouded in darkness.

  It was a soul fragment… and one belonging to a divine being.

  Before his presence, even the shadows froze, refusing to move carelessly. But Saint passed by it, without the slightest hesitation. Reaching its base, he carefully traced its runes, until the pro fin mechanism reacted.

  The very tower trembled, and the Nether ir, which had remained motionless for thousands of years, finally moved… straight into the deepest abyss.