The last vestiges of childhood melted from Aman's reflection, replaced by something far more dangerous - a smirk that didn't belong to any child, but to the hunter who'd been waiting behind those innocent eyes all along.
The illusion world screamed as it fractured like a thousand realities unraveling at once.
Then, with a final, deafening silence—
—the world tore itself apart.
Before the Lament Shroud could even process the shift, the very fabric of its reality contorted violently.
One moment, the child was in its grasp, ensnared in the illusion it had so carefully woven.
The next, the comforting dark of its own being was torn open, as if something far older and crueler had reached in and wrenched it apart.
The Shroud was flung, without grace or warning, into a stark and unfamiliar reality.
