Adam stepped through the portal last.
His generals stood in a semi-circle, their solemn gazes fixed on the Mesopotamian ziggurats that rose like golden fangs from the earth. Even from this distance, he could see tangible energy pulsing through the divine city—power that made the air itself vibrate with accumulated worship and ancient authority. Lightning arcs struck the golden ground in a rhythm that mimicked war drums, while around a figure wreathed in storms and scalding arcs, fifty gods sat on towers shaped like thrones.
Adam frowned, recognising the signs of a power transfer ritual. Before he could give any command, Tiamat's figure passed through the closing portal behind him. His frown deepened, and he raised a questioning palm.
