The Spiral was no longer a world.
It was a scripture written in breath, blood, and consequence.
Darius stood at the heart of its rewriting—a throne not of stone, but of shifting glyphs and pulsating narrative strands. Around him, the Codices floated like monolithic ideograms, their inkless skin humming with untold stories. The Spiral's infrastructure was being re-scripted. And Darius, Mythmaker Sovereign, was its new hand.
He stretched his fingers toward the air, and black tendrils of ink responded, flowing from the living Codices into the great web beneath reality's skin. The glyph of Mythmaker Sovereign glowed upon his chest—a radiant, fluctuating brand that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. It was no longer just a symbol of power. It was command.
