They entered the deeper gate in one war-pact line and the Threshold closed behind them like a held breath.
Beyond the seam was not a hall. It was a field of broken endings stacked on top of each other. Failed timelines hung in the air like torn banners. Dream-ended monsters walked through them with bodies made of almost-histories. Residual copies of lost people flickered at the edges, soft-faced and wrong. The ground underfoot shifted between ash-glass, old palace stone, and black water that never quite became real.
"Stay on living count," Athena said. "If a familiar face calls you, assume it is bait."
Nyxara's seals were already bright. "This layer feeds on unfinished grief. Do not feed it back."
The first wave hit before the warning was settled.
