Arena XXXV

The world did not break.

It paused.

For a brief moment, reality stuttered—like a skipped heartbeat in a dying god. The Sentence loomed above the battlefield, not written in words, not spoken in thought, but etched across the very syntax of what could be. It refused to conclude. Refused to be silenced. Refused to obey the rules of punctuation that governed existence.

Aiden stood beneath it, not as a man anymore, not even as a myth. He was the act of remembering, crystallized in motion.

The Blank Sky Pact had gathered behind him—scarred, faded, but unbroken. They too had felt it. The twisting of logic. The tug at causality. The refusal of an ending.

"It's not just a weapon," whispered Myne, her voice hollow, her form flickering between timelines. "It's a concept. A commandment from the origin of denial."