There was no sound when the world began to resist.
Only the absence of what once was—vanishing piece by piece, silent and absolute.

The stars... fell like ash and dissolved into the black.
Geography lost its shape.
Language began to slip from meaning, turning conversations into empty noise.

And through it all, Erah still existed.

But he felt himself being peeled away—
layer by layer of awareness,
layer by layer of identity,
until even the idea of “self” became a concept under siege.

He tried to remember his name.
Not out of fear of forgetting—
but because every time he thought it,
the name changed.

“You touched what should never be named.”
“You’ve become a form within the void.”
“And that form is rewriting itself.”

A voice echoed—not from any creature, but from the cracking of laws themselves.

There were no gods left to rule.
No systems left to govern.

But Erah...
he did not collapse.

Instead of being erased,
he chose to rebuild himself—
not through memory,
but through will.

And from the emptiness,
he forged a fifth glyph.
Not of Time.
Not of Space.
Not of Gravity.
Not of Erasure.

But of Resistance.

A symbol that stood not above the system,
but against it.

When Erah carved that glyph using the fragments of his own unraveling self,
the cracks stopped.

Not closed.
Not healed.
Just…
ceased to spread.