Each member, once a remnant of loss, now added their own glyph to the air. Small. Simple. Personal. A child's name. A forgotten dream. A promise once broken. Symbols of life once denied meaning.
Eyael watched.
And learned.
A soft wind moved through the field of unborn being.
Then Eyael answered.
A shape formed in the air—not a weapon, nor a spell, but a symbol. A glyph that meant: "Together."
And it wrote itself onto the next page of the Book.
The Pact felt it instantly.
A shift in their existence.
They were no longer exiles.
They were authors.
Authors of a new world, one not ruled by the gods of consumption or the entropy of silence. A world where even the Unnamed had a place—not as a monster, but as a voice.
Eyael turned to Aiden again.
No words. Only a shared acknowledgment.
And then, a question offered back:
"What now?"
Aiden looked at the field, at the Pact, at the skyless sky above that waited for its first star.
And he smiled.
"We build," he said.
