There is no time in the Void.
No warmth.
No pain.
No voice.
Only a name, whispered from nowhere—
"Matt…"
His soul drifted.
Unformed. Unseen.
Yet still… alive.
Shards of memory floated by like broken stars:
The scent of scorched stone.
A lullaby in a dead tongue.
A mother's trembling hands.
A blade that had never drawn breath, but always knew blood.
He was not yet reborn.
But he was not forgotten.
---
The Whisperer found him first.
A voice older than time.
Deeper than fear.
"You were sentenced by gods who lie.
Erased for being possible."
Matt's essence stirred—dimly aware, dimly angry.
"What are you?"
"I am the space between truths.
The power cast aside.
I am Void."
"Are you real?"
"Real enough to offer you a choice:
Remain here—unmade.
Or take my flame… and begin again."
A flicker of silver-black fire spun through the dark.
It coiled around his fragmented soul like breath becoming body.
Armor before form.
Will before flesh.
And then—
Pain.
Then weight.
Then breath.
The Void whispered:
"I will not command you.
But I will follow.
Your rage is mine.
Your mercy… is your own."
"Why me?"
"Because you burned beautifully."
---
Matt fell.
Through broken light.
Through sealed dimensions.
Through layers of godblood and forgotten fate.
He fell toward Earth—
Toward a life without memory.
Toward a war he would ignite again.
And as he fell, the stars did not weep.
They simply watched.