The second eye opened.
Reality broke. It didn't happen metaphorically or poetically, but actually. The sky cracked like glass, a jagged fracture stretching across the heavens from horizon to horizon. Every person who saw it felt the same chilling realization: something fundamental had gone wrong. The world was not supposed to do that.
The creature remained mostly hidden beyond the darkness, revealing only two eyes, part of a claw, and part of an arm. Yet its mere presence was enough to destabilize reality. The implications were horrifying. If this was only a fragment, what would happen when the rest emerged?
Nobody spoke. Not the Hunters, not the academy staff, and not even Caelum. Everyone simply stared at the impossible sight.
The Founder Echo looked very tired—the kind of exhaustion that came from watching the same disaster repeat across centuries.
"Well," the ancient man said, folding his arms. "That's worse."
The Old Bastard nodded. "Significantly worse."
"Scale?"
