In an area not too far from the Arena.
In a region filled with waves of Paradox and Immensity, the bodies of THE Weavers were floating above an obsidian-gold sea. The liquid below churned with contradictions made manifest, patterns that should have been impossible coexisting in constant flux.
In front of them was a throne of an Absolute.
Paradoxos the Dual sat upon it.
Or they sat upon it.
The entity defied singular description. Two figures occupied a single space, their forms overlapping and separating in constant rhythm. One face was masculine, carved with sharp features that spoke of cold logic. The other was feminine, softer lines that held warmth that contradicted the coldness of its counterpart. Both faces existed simultaneously, neither dominant, neither subservient.
