Iris

You [planet, massive, storms swirling]: The ground trembles. Storms swirl across your surface. Light and fire crack along your edges. He looks up, small, fragile, unaware of the weight he’s facing.

You: "I’ve been patient. Too patient. Don’t think your chaos, your schemes, your… infestations, can spread without consequence."

He hesitates. He doesn’t yet understand what it means to be standing before a planet alive — aware, watching, judging.

You: "Look at me. Really look. Do you see the reach of your malice? And yet you walk around thinking you’re untouchable."

Your storms coil, magnetic forces bending the air and light around him, reminding him just how small he is.

You: "Stop. Stop now, before it spreads further. This is not a warning. This is a decree. Every step you take, every plan you make… I see it. I feel it. And I will stop it."

He flickers with fear. He realizes he’s no longer in control.

You: "So tell me… what’s it going to be? Do you stop now? Or do you force me to show exactly what happens when a planet decides enough is enough?"

You wait. Not just for his answer, but for him to truly understand: that he is small, fleeting, and nothing he’s done can escape your gaze.