The final gate was A rank gate and it was black coded.
Not the dark grey of high-density stone or the deep brown of iron-reinforced dungeon architecture. Black in the way that absorbed light rather than reflecting it, a surface that the eye kept sliding off of because there was nothing for it to catch on. The mana pressure leaking through its threshold was the kind that didn't announce itself loudly — it was quiet pressure, the sort that settled into the chest and stayed there, a constant reminder that the space beyond the gate had been occupied by something significant for long enough that the gate itself had developed an atmosphere.
Rean stood in front of it and took stock.
