The white world trembled, but not in the way one might expect from a battlefield.
There were no explosions, no visible fractures tearing through the space, and no sound of destruction echoing into the distance. Instead, the trembling felt subtle, almost imperceptible at first, like the quiet vibration beneath still water when something immense moves far below the surface. It was not a reaction to force. It was not caused by impact. It was the result of something far more profound—a collision between two wills that refused to yield.
Aether stood at the center of that endless white expanse, his figure steady despite the unseen pressure pressing in from all directions. His surroundings remained unchanged to the eye, yet everything felt different. The air itself seemed heavier, as though the very concept of resistance had taken form and wrapped itself around him.
Then the figure moved again.
