Inside the central hall of the Archive, the massive black void sphere stopped spinning. A profound, unnatural silence settled over the room, so deep that even the sound of his own spiritual breathing vanished.
The dark sphere began to glow with a soft, pale gray mist that drifted smoothly across the obsidian mirrors. As the mist touched Sagiri's boots, the sharp ache in his petrified limbs faded into soothing warmth.
The cold weight of the five absorbed relics in his chest seemed to disappear, replaced by a gentle feeling of weightless peace. For the first time since he had entered the southern hellpools, his veins felt entirely free from burning pain.
Look at how quiet the darkness can be, the voice of the core whispered, echoing gently inside his mind like a warm summer breeze. You have fought through countless battles, endured cruel torture, and carried the survival of five nations on your shoulders.
