Arena XXXIV

Aiden stood still as the echoes of the Remembrance War slowly faded into the abyssal silence that surrounded them.

Beneath his feet, the broken ground of the Uncreated Plain trembled—not from physical impact, but from the ripple of unacknowledged time pushing back against itself. The war had left scars, but it had also carved space—new ground, fertile not with earth, but with memory.

A place where something could be born again.

He inhaled slowly. Not through lungs—those were remnants of a former self—but through the core of his being, where all narratives converged and bled into meaning.

Behind him, the Blank Sky Pact reassembled.

They were diminished.

Yet not defeated.

Where once a legion of a thousand forgotten gods had marched, only two dozen now remained—tattered, flickering silhouettes of entities whose names were only half-remembered, and some who had no names at all, only feelings burned into the void like scars.