The space was suddenly drowned in light. It was not the warm glow of a sun, nor the gentle twinkle of distant stars.
It was a blinding luminance, sharp enough to split galaxies in half and cold enough to freeze the soul.
This light twisted and hardened into form, birthing ten thousand swords. Some were as small and delicate as sewing needles, humming with a high-pitched frequency that vibrated with the universe.
Others were colossal blades the size of galaxies, their edges shimmering with the promise of death.
But the architect of this grand spectacle was fading. Thera, the Goddess of Divine Annihilation, floated in the center of her creation, a dying Goddess.
Her skin, once radiant and flawless, was now pale as ash. Her lips were cracked and dry, and fine wrinkles of exhaustion were etching themselves rapidly across her face.
