Chapter 4802: THE Weaver of Existence III

The prompts at this time felt heavy and filled with a sense of weight that Noah could not explain.

They continued.

|Unique Weavings of Information Received|

|The Palace is revealing information relating to the Weavings of an Absolute.|

|The information presents itself as such:|

|THE Weavers were Absolutes that integrated their Civilization across the Weavings of Observable Existence relating to Fate.|

|Their collapse is unwinding countless fates and possibilities.|

|This action is generating a net increase in entropy and chaos across Observable Existence.|

|Unknown musings of Corrupted Growths and Malformed Authorities related to fates, paradox, destiny, fortune, and much more were passively being cleared and purified by the authority of THE Weavers.|

|This contributed to the stability of Observable Existence.|

|This is only the basal surface effect that can be discerned right now.|

|With the loss of an Absolute losing their established function...|

|Once it is lost, it is nearly impossible for it to be established again.|

|The killer of an Absolute has their own Way and Civilization.|

|They cannot replace that which they have killed.|

|This is the tragedy of Absolute collapse.|

|This is why Existence mourns.|

...!

Noah’s eyes pulsed as he read all of this.

He looked over into the room.

A throne sat at the center.

But it was not a single throne.

It was three seats fused into one, representing the unity of THE Weavers’ existence. The three components leaned toward each other as if in eternal conversation, frozen in the moment of reaching for connection that could never be completed.

Golden threads extended from the throne in all directions.

They connected to every other part of the Palace. To the Treasury of Severed Fates. To the floating loot. To the very walls and ceiling and floor. Everything in this domain was linked to this throne.

Because this throne was THE Weavers.

And THE Weavers were this throne.

|The Tragedy of Absolute Collapse|

|Observe the throne before you.|

|It sits empty.|

|Desolate.|

|Filled with a sense of sadness that transcends normal emotion.|

|This is the tragedy of the human condition extended to Existential scale.|

|When a mortal dies, their family mourns.|

|When an Absolute dies, Existence itself mourns.|

|Because something irreplaceable has been lost.|

|THE Weavers contributed to the function of Observable Existence.|

|That contribution is now gone.|

|The fates they managed are now unmanaged.|

|The corruptions they purified will now spread.|

|The stability they provided will now decay.|

|This is a loss that can never be recovered.|

|Unless...|

|Unless something is capable of sitting upon this throne.|

|Unless something can accept what THE Weavers stood for.|

|Unless something can fill the void they left behind.|

|Only then would the tragedy of the collapse of an Absolute be cleared.|

|Only then would Existence stop mourning.|

Noah looked at these prompts with quiet silence.

His entire figure continued blazing with prismatic blue-gold waves of light.

He remembered the words of THE Secretive Eon.

She had said that when she collapsed an Absolute, she replaced them.

If this was truly an issue...

Would the tragedy of the collapse of THE Weavers truly be a tragedy?

Or would it be a transformation?

Noah walked toward the thrones in the distance.

The golden threads all around reached out toward him.

With hope.

Immense hope of possibility.

They stretched from their fixed positions, straining toward this being who had entered their domain. They did not reach with malice or desperation. They reached with the same instinct that plants reach toward sunlight.

Because he represented continuation.

Because he represented the possibility that their purpose might not end.

Noah proceeded ahead.

The golden threads latched onto his body.

And where they touched him, they turned blue-gold.

The color of The First Tongue.

The color of Mana.

The color of what he represented.

A symphony began to play in the surroundings.

It started soft, barely perceptible. Notes of loss and longing. But as he walked closer to the throne, it grew. Swelling with harmonies that spoke of ancient purpose and desperate hope.

And behind the thrones...

Illusory figures of THE Weavers appeared.

They had no consciousness.

No cognition.

They were merely echoes. Remnants of what had been. Shadows cast by beings whose light had been extinguished.

But they did not look shrewd and despotic as they had in life.

Their skin was fair. Their hair was golden. Their bodies were wrapped in white-gold robes that flowed like destiny itself.

And they began to sing.

Hymns of immense sacredness and glory poured from their throats. Songs that spoke of purpose and duty and the weight of managing fate for all of Observable Existence.

They sang for what they had been.

They sang for what might still be.

They sang for the one who walked toward their throne.

Noah only spared them a glance as he was calm and unmoved.

Then he proceeded to sit down with the absolute authority of someone claiming what was rightfully his, lowering himself onto the throne of THE Weavers with deliberate weight that made the entire Palace tremble in recognition of its new master.

His back pressed against the throne with the casual dominance of a king who had conquered everything worth conquering, his arms resting on the armrests as if they had been carved specifically for his hands to claim. His legs spread slightly in the posture of someone who owned the very ground beneath them, his chin lifted and his eyes blazing with the light of The First Tongue itself.

He sat like Tyranny given form.

At the moment he sat down, Noah truly and fully felt the full weight of the Depth and Civilization of THE Weavers flow toward him.

Countless golden threads now latched onto him from all directions!

They connected to his arms, his legs, his chest, his head! They wove themselves into his existence! They integrated their purpose into his foundations!

The hymns of the illusory manifestations of THE Weavers above became even heavier!

The symphony swelled to a crescendo that shook the very fabric of the Palace!

And at this moment, Noah spoke.

"All Ways and Civilizations at some point, before differentiation, before specialization... were Mana."

His voice carried across the throne room with weight that silenced even the hymns.

"Were The First Tongue."

His eyes blazed brighter.

"Others may contribute a net loss to Existence when they collapse Absolutes."

His smile became something vast and terrible.

"But every Absolute I collapse... I will take on their Immensity and purpose over Observable Existence."

...!

BOOM!

Brilliant golden light shone all around!

The threads that had been connecting to him blazed with incandescent radiance!

The hymns transformed from mourning to celebration!

And in the next moment, in dazzling golden letters that burned themselves into the very air of the Palace...

|THE Weaver of Existence seeks to make his emergence through The First Tongue|

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