In the endless expanse of that unfinished dimension, the presence that stirred did not possess a true body.
There was no form or defined shape, only a vast and layered consciousness suspended within the darkness that it claimed as its refuge.
This was all that remained of the Void Architect. After the battle that had nearly erased him from existence, he had been forced into this state, fragmented and diminished, hiding within a dimension he had carved out for himself in desperation.
The clash with the True Creator had not ended cleanly. It had left him wounded beyond measure, stripped of certainty, and bound to patience.
Even now, he did not know what fate had befallen his archnemesis. Whether the Creator still existed in full or lingered in some diminished state as he did was a question he could not afford to answer through reckless action.
And so he remained where he was, concealed within the void, unwilling to risk exposure.
But waiting did not mean inaction.
