The skies didn't move. The stars didn't shimmer.
Only Adam.
He stood in the center of the Celestial Plane, the lock still rippling like a suppressed heartbeat across space. The gods that had been watching, circling, whispering from on high—all began to descend. Slowly. Cautiously. Like wolves unsure if the prey was actually a lion.
The battlefield cleared itself.
Kael'Thar growled from above but stopped fighting. Even he could feel it.
This was something different.
Aurora rejoined Alice and Joshua, watching with narrowed eyes.
And then—Adam spoke.
"You call yourselves gods," he said, his voice calm, steady, final. "But what have you done with that power?"
None of them answered.
He stepped forward. No resistance. Even gravity moved out of his way.
"You hoard divinity like children holding torches in a storm. Claiming holiness while building castles on suffering."
