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The Weight of Creation

The grand chamber of the Cosmic Council fell silent as Aria finished her report. The faces of the assembled elders—beings of immense power and wisdom from across the multiverse—were unreadable, their alien features masking whatever thoughts or judgments they might be harboring.

Aria stood before them, her companions arrayed behind her in a show of solidarity. She could feel the weight of their gazes, the unspoken questions and concerns that hung in the air like a palpable force. The Blade of Dawn at her side felt heavier than ever, a constant reminder of the immense power she now wielded—and the responsibility that came with it.

Finally, Archon Zyn'thar, the eldest of the Council, leaned forward. His form, a swirling mass of starlight and void, pulsed with barely contained energy.

"Seer Winters," his voice echoed through the chamber, a sound like the birth and death of galaxies. "You have done what no being in recorded history has ever attempted. You didn't just mend a tear in reality
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