A name he had not yet written.
And perhaps could not.
The sky, or what was left of it, began to flicker — not with stars, but with gaps. Blanks. Like missing pages. Sections of existence that did not refuse to be known, but never were to begin with.
That's when Nexus whispered.
"It has arrived. The One Without a Page."
Aiden didn't answer right away.
He was staring at the outline of a hill where the Blank Sky Pact had once rested. It was gone. Not scorched, not broken, not even erased — but absent in a way that language failed to hold.
Like a song never composed.
A child never born.
Aiden turned slowly. He didn't need Spirit Sense to feel it. Whatever this was, it wasn't invading reality.
It preceded it.
Across the fragmented horizon, a crack split open. No light came through. No voice echoed.
Just a suggestion.
A nothingness that offered no threat, no intent, not even rejection. And that was what made it unbearable.
Because it was true void.
