Win drops his gaze, letting the flickering flames on the seal go blurry in his vision. Despite the almost melting temperatures in the chamber, he feels cold inside, as if his own life force is fading along with his husbands'. The manifestation of the final dying throes is watching above them, hovering like a carrion bird, eager to witness the birth of the new realm - the one that is being born out of the scattered, buried energies of its own recent annihilation.

He blinks at the way the flames on the stone floor lick at his knees, feeling detached, almost numb. A tiny part of his scattering mind wonders...