The void didn't disappear when the previous message dissipated. On the contrary—it seemed to deepen, as if that brief interaction had been only the surface of something much larger being prepared. Damon remained motionless in that nonexistent space, his eyes scanning the nothingness with increasing attention, as if expecting something to emerge from there. He wasn't really breathing, there was no air there, but still there was rhythm to his existence, an invisible cadence that seemed to accompany the very workings of what was now being rebuilt within him.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
Light.
It didn't come from a specific point. It didn't appear as a flame or a flash. It was more subtle… more invasive. A soft hue began to form in the absolute void, tinging the nothingness with a translucent pinkish tone that spread slowly, like ink dissolving in invisible water. It didn't illuminate the space—it created the very concept of space around Damon.
