Realmshift: Triad Ascendancy.

Visions.

[BEATRICE]

My eyes snapped open to a suffocating darkness, and for a moment, I thought I was staring up at a night sky devoid of stars. But as I slowly rose to my feet, the truth settled uneasily in my chest—this wasn't a sky at all. I was suspended within a vast, endless void—an abyss so complete and silent that it swallowed the concept of space itself. There was no wind, no ground, no up or down, just the oppressive presence of the black that clung to my skin like mist and felt far too alive.

The last thing I remembered was Lady Vermouth's voice, telling me to rest during the journey. Now, her words seemed distant, like a faint echo trying to reach me through water. Wherever I was, it demanded my attention.

Then, without warning, a soft light shimmered into existence before me—cool, pale, and steady. From it emerged a throne, rising like a monument from the depths of the void. It wasn't carved or forged; it looked as though the darkness itself had congealed and been shaped by unseen hands into something regal. Its surface was impossibly smooth, reflecting fragments of the void around it like rippling obsidian. Despite being solid, it gave off an eerie sense that it could dissolve back into nothingness at any moment.

Strange patterns pulsed along its edges—thin veins of light, like cracks in the fabric of reality, tracing symbols I couldn't recognize. The closer I stepped, the more I could feel something emanating from it—not warmth or cold, but a pull. 

I hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing my mind. "Was I dreaming?" I asked myself.

I took a breath and moved towards the throne. 

As I stepped closer to the throne, the surrounding void seemed to thicken, pulsing with an unnatural weight. The light surrounding the obsidian seat flickered, as if straining to contain what it was revealing. Then, something began to take shape—a silhouette, seated in stillness upon the throne.

At first, it was just an outline, hazy and shifting like smoke caught in starlight. But with every step I took, the figure sharpened, reality peeling away its layers. The silhouette faded, and what remained was no mere shadow. It was something terrifyingly real.

Seated on the throne was a man—if he could be called that. His golden hair shimmered unnaturally, like strands of molten light, and his eyes were a piercing, unblinking crimson. They weren't simply looking at me—they were looking through me, as if weighing my soul against something I couldn't understand.

His body was bare from the waist up, revealing countless red runes that pulsed faintly across his skin like living tattoos. They snaked across his arms, chest, and shoulders—symbols of power I couldn't read but could feel vibrating in the air like a low hum. He wore black armor leggings, forged from a material that looked older than time itself—jagged and brutal, yet elegant in its design.

The moment our eyes met, the air collapsed around me. An invisible force pressed down on my shoulders, crushing and suffocating all at once. My knees nearly gave out. This pressure—it was overwhelming, ancient, divine. I hadn't felt fear like this since the first time I stood before Lady Vermouth. That same bone-deep sense of insignificance, of being in the presence of something so far beyond comprehension it made your every thought feel small.

Instinctively, I clutched at my shirt, trying to hold onto my sanity, trying to anchor myself to something real. But there was no comfort to be found—not here, not under that gaze.

The man rose from his throne in complete silence, his movements fluid and purposeful. He didn't speak a single word—but he didn't need to. The air trembled with his intent.

Then, without warning, a weapon materialized in his hand—a blade forged entirely from blood. It shimmered with an otherworldly sheen, the surface rippling as if alive. My eyes widened in disbelief.