The source.
Light gathered at the far end of the chamber—not a flare,not a blast,but a sphere of radianceas vast and serene as a moon rising in the depths of a collapsing world.
Silver folds unfurled around it like celestial wings.
The ground brightened.The air hummed.The dying creature recoiled into itself, trembling like a wounded titan.
A figure walked at the heart of that light.
Not revealed—outlined.
Backlit so fiercely his face dissolved into brilliance,silhouette carved in silver fire,each step echoing like the footfall of somethinghalf-human,half-divine.
A savior.A judgment.A sun given shape.
They could not see his features.
They did not need to.
Every instinct—every memory—every thread of spirit inside themrecognized that lightwith the same absolute certaintyas breath recognizing life.
Damian's heartbeat stuttered.Caleb's eyes widened.Ethan forgot to brace his knees.
And Marcus—
Marcus held Neol tighter,feeling the boy's faint breath brush his wrist,and for the first time since the nightmare began—
he believed they might live.
The silhouette paused,the sphere of light flaring behind him like a rising dawn.
And in the radiance that washed over them,every one of them felt the same thing:
They had been saved.