The Rift's horizon pulsed like a hemorrhaging sun, each heartbeat spitting shards of molten possibility into the void. Reed hovered at the center of that storm, cloak torn to ribbons, silver hair lashing around a face warped by grief. The ∞ glyph burned across his chest in jagged fever-bright lines, but something new crowned him now: a halo of fractured runes—broken, serrated fragments of the resurrection seal. They whirled above his brow like bleeding moons, each shard sparking wild currents of raw creation. It was power stripped of balance, a crown forged from agony instead of vision.