The gate rose in silence, a towering arch of fractured crystal and flowing light.
Through it, Leon could see only shifting shadows—tall silhouettes moving as if the space beyond had its own gravity.
Varisse remained by the platform's edge, watching him. "One last thing," she said. "Sovereigns… don't fight for survival. They fight to prove ownership of reality. If you hesitate in there, they'll take even your presence away."
Leon gave a short nod, then stepped forward.
Crossing the gate felt different from any floor before. It wasn't a teleport—it was like being rewritten. His senses scrambled for a few seconds, then snapped into place.
The new floor was massive. Not an arena, but an open expanse of black stone, lit by suspended spheres of light drifting far above. In the distance stood a figure in dark, lacquered armor, seated casually on a throne carved into the stone itself.
The figure didn't rise.
