The chamber was quiet now, the echoes of battle fading into memory. The golden light that filled the Rift pulsed gently, like a heartbeat, like a sigh of relief after a thousand years of torment. The shadows that had haunted this place for centuries were gone, banished by the combined power of the light-bearer and the Demon King, and in their place, there was only light: warm, golden, peaceful.
Erebus stood at the center of the chamber, his form no longer flickering between shadow and light but steady, almost serene. The corruption that had twisted him for a thousand years had been purged by Rosalind's light, burned away by the very power he had once wielded as a saint. What remained was the man he had once been: the hero, the savior, the one who had given everything to protect the world.
But he was crumbling.
