The immediate aftermath of the celestial assimilation attempt left a profound, ringing silence in its wake. The vast, translucent crystalline plateau beneath their boots chimed softly, a deceptively gentle sound that belied the terrifying, primordial power of the Sacred Land.
Solis remained kneeling on the smooth crystal, refusing to loosen his iron grip on his husband. He kept Noir tucked securely against his chest, one hand buried in Noir's soft, dark hair, the other tracing reassuring circles across his trembling spine. Solis's own chest ached fiercely; the raw, unsealed radiation of Noir's awakening Godhead had seared through his tailored jacket and scorched his skin, leaving a phantom burn that throbbed with every heartbeat. He entirely ignored the pain. The burn was a physical, grounding reminder that he had successfully anchored the love of his life to the mortal plane.
