He exhaled, slow and low, the sigh heavier than time itself. The crimson gleam of the Fate Nemesis Eye dulled and spiraled inward, vanishing beneath mortal irises as his gaze dimmed into something deceptively human. The moment he blinked, space itself folded inward like collapsing lungs—and he stepped.
Not walked.
Stepped.
Reality tore apart in silence and stitched him back into his bedroom like a thought being remembered by the universe.
His arrival sent faint cracks slithering through the air itself—like glass breaking inside a dream. His clothes changed mid-transition. A white shirt coalesced onto his frame, its fabric spinning into existence thread by thread, tailored by intent, not hands. The long sleeves fluttered, then tucked into sleek black pants that tightened over his sculpted legs.
