The Absolutists, lost in the shifting, treacherous landscape of the Revisionists’ lies, found their own truth beginning to crack. The Law, once a source of unshakeable certainty, was now a brittle, fragile thing, its once-perfect surface crazed with a thousand hairline fractures. Each new lie, each subtle distortion, was another tap of the hammer, another stress on the already-strained structure of their belief. And as the cracks widened, a new and terrifying possibility began to seep through – the possibility that their Law was not a reflection of some divine, immutable truth, but simply a story they had told themselves, a story that was no longer strong enough to hold back the encroaching darkness.