Inside the director's office at the Abyssal Observation Station, time seems to have solidified into amber.
Uther sits quietly at that slightly worn oak desk, fingers gently stroking the marks of time within the wood grain.
Outside the window, the dark red glow tainted by the Abyss breathes through the dissected layer, spilling onto his increasingly transparent palms like a bloody veil.
The once-solid aggregates of Magic Power are transforming into a more pure state.
He can feel that the flame of life which has burned for thousands of years is finally about to offer its last drop of wax to the darkness.
His "Void Remains"—the miracle that once allowed him to cross the boundary between life and death—is now irreversibly dissipating from its bindings.
Thoughts become as clear and transparent as stars, each notion carrying a crystal-like purity;
Yet his body feels light enough to drift away with the wind in the next moment, becoming a speck of dust in the river of History.
