(Meanwhile, Chaosbringer's POV, The Time Stilled World)

Chaosbringer sat alone in his quiet office, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded tightly across his chest, as he kept himself a small distance away from the cluttered work desk stacked with sealed reports and pending approvals, while his mind drifted through the tangled web of secrets he had spent the past year unraveling with unwavering, almost obsessive patience.

It had taken him months to track the faint trails of deceit, weeks of observing subtle inconsistencies repeat themselves like hairline cracks in a porcelain mask, until eventually he confirmed what he had suspected from the start — that the Third Elder had been leaking information to the outside world in ways so careful and deliberate that even Chaosbringer's hidden observers had failed to catch him in the act.

He remembered how exhausting it had been to play along, as he fed the traitor carefully crafted fragments of false intelligence, each one woven into a larger illusion designed to mislead the Righteous Faction piece by piece, until all the threads finally converged yesterday with the fabricated report about twelve Righteous planets set to be attacked on the same day as Veyr's execution.

That was the moment Chaosbringer decided the man had served his final purpose.

"You were a snake I wanted to eliminate a long time ago… and tonight you shall finally be gone," he murmured, almost gently, as he acknowledged that there was nothing left to extract from the Third Elder anymore, no false trail left to exploit, which was why he had not hesitated even for a breath before signing the death warrant a few moments ago.

"The bait I cast for the Righteous Faction is flawless… so flawless that not a single Commander up there will ever question the legitimacy of my true plans," he whispered, a pleased warmth settling behind his eyes, as he thought about how perfectly the information had been shaped to appeal to their logic and paranoia alike.

"Every calculation, every ounce of common sense dictates that the Cult should strike those twelve planets, and so they will rush to reinforce them desperately, bleeding their already strained ranks until entire regions lie bare for our allies, the Su Clan, to sweep through untouched…"

He continued in a soft, satisfied tone, as if savoring the elegance of a long-awaited performance finally moving toward its crescendo, while the smallest curl of a smile formed at the corner of his lips.

"I've removed most of the Elders' Council in the last year… the First, Second, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Eighth, Ninth and Tenth," he mused, letting the names roll off his tongue like fading stains.

"Once the Third is erased as well, the Old Guard will finally be gone… and with their purged remains, the political rot corroding the Cult will end."

He said, as he finally pushed himself up from the chair with a slow, deliberate motion, his steps carrying him away from the drifts of paperwork and toward the far wall of his office where a large portrait of Leo hung in quiet reverence, illuminated only by the dim amber light of a single floating lamp.

Chaosbringer stopped before it and let out a long, trembling sigh, the kind that escaped only when no one was watching.

"My Lord…"

He whispered, the words thin and reverent, as his gaze drifted down to his own hand — a hand that once moved with youthful precision yet now carried faint wrinkles along the knuckles, tiny signs of decay that time had carved into him despite all his efforts to ignore it.

He rotated his wrist slowly, studying the texture of his skin as an unpleasant truth settled upon him, because unlike the powerful warriors who fought beside Leo, unlike the blacksmiths who could elongate their lifespan with increased mastery in their craft, or the ancient beings who served Leo's cause with near-immortal longevity, he was nothing more than a normal human.

A normal human who was ageing fast.

A normal human who, at best, had twenty or twenty-five years left before his body began to betray him completely, leaving him too frail and too brittle to continue serving the man whose portrait he now stood before.

"It is cruel, my Lord… but it seems I will not be able to serve you forever, even though every part of me wishes to."

He murmured, as his fingers brushed the bottom edge of the portrait frame, maybe hoping that through touch alone he could feel closer to the man he worshipped, while the quiet acceptance of his own mortality gnawed at him from the inside.

His eyes dimmed as he thought about what came next — because if he could not remain at Leo's side until the end, then he needed to ensure that someone capable would stand where he once stood, shaping the Cult from the shadows the same way he had done most his life.

"I must find a successor worthy of you… someone who understands your greatness, someone who will not falter when the universe begins to worship you as its overlord."

He whispered, as his mind drifted through names, none of which satisfied him, because none of them possessed the devotion, the vision, or the ruthlessness required to serve Leo with the same unwavering loyalty that he did.

"And before my time runs out… I must consolidate every piece of influence I have gathered, purge every last remnant of the Old Guard, stabilize the internal power structure, and ensure that when you return to take over the Cult, that you find it worthy of you…."

He said softly, his voice trembling not with fear but with devotion, as he lowered his head, as though offering a silent vow to the portrait before him.

For even though he knew that his years were numbered, Chaosbringer's resolve did not weaken.

If anything, the ticking clock only hardened it further.

Because he wanted to achieve everything he could — destroy what needed to be destroyed, build what needed to be built, and shape the Cult into an organization that was a net asset to Leo and not a liability.

And if achieving that dream meant that he had to burn through the last remaining years of his life to make that future real…

Then he was prepared for that as well.

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