The Middle Wheel Platform.
A world suspended in fractured eternity, layered by epochs, folded paradoxes, and the solemn breath of collapsed Wheels of Existence.
Still.
Silent.
Primarchs and Resplendent Monads dotted the mountains and broken lands, their gazes largely fixed in one direction.
Toward a figure.
Toward the one seated at the very heart of the Cradle of Folded Time.
Noah Osmont.
The Stranger.
He remained unmoving.
As endless epochs of folded time crashed against him, waves that would have unraveled even the strongest of them within hours.
For hours now, Noah's form, wrapped in the quiet dominion of Lattices and True Sources refined beyond what most could imagine, had not wavered.
Most watched with growing awe.
And some with a kind of reverent caution- as if witnessing a force of nature that had not yet decided whether it would shape them or shatter them.
Thauron was among those watching.
