The void held its breath, if such a thing could be said of a space that existed beyond the need for atmosphere. Selena and Dante stood before their throne—not upon it now, but facing it as one might face a witness, an altar, a monument to everything they'd become. The structure gleamed with ash-formed substance, ember-light and storm-shadow playing across its impossible architecture.
Around them, the nameless dawn continued its eternal rise, painting the colorless expanse with hues that had no names in any language. The spaces where old thrones had stood remained empty, transformed into fountains of possibility rather than monuments to dominion. Everything was potential here, everything was choice, everything waited to be shaped by intention rather than decree.
