After the dust had settled, the Cradle was finally at peace with its new state. Everything that could collapse had already fallen, leaving behind only silence -- an eerie, unbroken stillness settling over what had once been sacred ground.

  Now, it resembled the ruins of some alien civilization, its original form all but erased.

  Virno: "Nngh..."

  A black-and-white fennec fox rummaged through a pile of debris, its small but sharp teeth finding flesh. It bit down, tugging at what it thought was an easy meal—unaware that its prey still lived.

  Virno groaned, his senses sluggish as he stirred from unconsciousness. Then, a sharper pressure at his wrist. A sting. Teeth.

  Virno: "T-the hell?!"

  His body reacted before his mind caught up.

  With a sudden, violent fling of his arm, he sent the fox flying. A startled yelp echoed through the ruins as it was projected through the air.

  Breathing heavily, Virno shoved aside the debris entombing him and pulled himself free with disturbing ease.

  Something felt different.

  He was taller. Stronger. His movements held an unnatural lightness, his strength effortless.

  Had he transcended his human form again? Had it finally stuck?

  He smirked at the thought.

  But then --

  Virno: "No..."

  His breath caught.

  Something was wrong.

  He had already noticed how cold his eye sockets were... And though he looked around after freeing himself, he still couldn't see anything.

  Just pitch black.

  Lifting his hands to his face, his fingers met cold, smooth stone.

  His chest tightened.

  His eyes -- gone.

  Not gone. Wrong.

  His fingers traced the unyielding surface of two shattered jade orbs. Cracked. Lifeless. His vision, gone. Replaced with rock.

  Virno: "Repercussions, huh...?"

  The words left him hollow. He dropped to his knees, his hands clenching into fists.

  He had walked away healed, powerful, whole...

  ... Except for this.

  A low growl snapped him from his thoughts.

  Black-and-white fox: "GRRR..."

  Virno turned instinctively -- and something flickered in his vision.

  A shape. A glow.

  A green silhouette.

  Through the void of his blindness, a familiar outline burned itself into his mind -- a weapon he knew all too well.

  The sword.

  Clutched between the fox’s teeth.

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  Virno: "The sword...!"

  The fox lunged, aiming to strike him with the very blade it carried.

  Virno caught it mid-air with his bare hand.

  The weapon’s edge, sharp enough to carve through steel, barely scratched his skin. The fox dangled from the hilt for a moment before releasing its hold.

  Then, it bit down on Virno’s fingers instead.

  There was no pain -- his flesh was too dense for the creature to break skin -- but the sensation was enough to stir his growing irritation.

  Virno: "Dammit, find something else to chew on!"

  He shook his arm aggressively, sending the fox hurtling toward the ground with bone-shattering force.

  Yet, just before impact, the creature twisted in the air, its descent slowing unnaturally. It landed gracefully on all fours.

  Virno’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  Virno: "The obelisk... I have to destroy it."

  He turned his head, straining to see if the obelisk’s magic would manifest as a silhouette, the way the sword had.

  Nothing.

  His vision seemed attuned only to the blade.

  Virno: "Alright... So be it."

  Reaching for the dirty blindfold around his neck, Virno tied it over his useless eyes. He recalled what Zephyr had told him -- how, given enough experience, he could learn to see through power alone.

  The sword pulsed in his grip. He gripped it tighter.

  With his left hand, he called upon its power. Runes flickered along the blade’s surface, their glow erratic at first, searching. Then -- stability. The glyphs settled into a fixed sequence, locking into place like the tumblers of an ancient mechanism.

  Virno pointed the sword downward -- and struck.

  A powerful stream of air erupted from its tip, tearing across the ruins with a force that sent shattered stone and debris flying.

  And, unbeknownst to him --

  Black-and-white fox: "Yiiip!!!"

  The little creature was flung skyward, its yelp fading as it disappeared beyond his hearing range.

  Virno: "Welp. Sorry about that..."

  He dialed down the magic, easing the torrent into a gentler breeze.

  Then, something strange happened.

  As the softened wind passed over the landscape, Virno saw it. Not with his eyes -- but with motion, resistance, the way the air bent and twisted around obstacles.

  Not true sight... But it was better than nothing.

  Through this crude, shifting map of wind currents, he could navigate. He moved forward, carefully at first, then with growing confidence, letting the air guide his steps.

  And as the currents wrapped around a familiar structure, Virno froze.

  Something was didn't seem right.

  Virno: "This shape is all wrong... It’s supposed to be a black stone slab, not... Not a..."

  The wind bent in ways it shouldn’t. The silhouette it traced -- not the obelisk.

  His breath slowed. His fingers curled around the hilt.

  Then, it hit him.

  Virno: "Winged monster… The Guardian."

  A scoff. A bitter smirk.

  Virno: "Hmph."

  With a slow exhale, he shifted his stance.

  He imbued the sword with power once more, and the runes reconfigured. A new pattern emerged -- this one darker, heavier, laced with something menacing.

  Lifting the blade high overhead, he felt the weight of divine judgment in his hands.

  Virno: "Good effort."

  Then, with all his strength --

  He swung.

  CLANG.

  The impact rang through the ruins, a deafening, metallic wail. The sword vibrated violently in his grasp, threatening to rip itself from his hands.

  A blast of wind exploded outward from the point of contact, scattering dust and rubble across the shattered landscape.

  Virno’s breath caught.

  His grip tightened.

  Virno: "No way... It’s supposed to cut through anything...!"

  He struck again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Each blow landed with merciless force -- but the Guardian’s petrified form did not yield.

  Not a scratch. Not a crack. Nothing.

  Virno’s frustration boiled over. His swings became wilder, more desperate, his breath ragged as he hacked at the unbreakable sacrifice.

  Virno: "Why...?"

  He struck again. The blade rebounded off the Guardian’s marble wings.

  Virno: "Why would you die protecting it?!"

  Snarling, he drove the sword into the ground, embedding it deep into the cracked earth.

  And then, at the top of his lungs --

  Virno: "DOES NOTHING EVER GO MY WAY?!"

  A voice -- distant but unmistakable -- called down from above.

  Voice from above: "Viiirno...!"

  His breath hitched.

  The voice cut through his anger like a blade.

  Rotavitea.

  Rotavitea: "I know you're down there! I can hear you whining all the way up here! Do you have the damn thing or not?!"

  For a moment, he just stood there, breathing hard.

  Then, exhaling through his nose, he reached down and wrenched the sword from the earth.

  His fingers brushed against the blade, lighting up several sigils as they slid across its surface.

  Virno: "I got it, alright...!"

  He turned toward her voice, stepping carefully over the ruins as she made her way down.

  His fingers tightened on the hilt. His body -- transcending all limits of mortality. His power -- rivalling that of a god.

  But his sight...

  He smirked bitterly.

  Virno: "In truth, it seems it got *me* more than *I* got it..."