The narrow spiraling staircase terminated in a vast subterranean rotunda carved from the dark bedrock beneath the custodian seat.
At the center of the vaulted chamber, an empty central ring of dull alloy hovered silently above three circular orbit marks inscribed into the floor.
A cold, stagnant draft circulated through the chamber, carrying the metallic scent of ancient pressure valves and forgotten machine grease.
Hajin approached the perimeter of the circular dais, his six celestial rings spinning in cautious, defensive orbits around his shoulders.
As his feet touched the outer boundary line, the third orbit mark flared with sudden, blinding radiance that reached toward his feet like a hungry leash.
The ancient foundation shuddered, anticipating an imperial sovereign who would step forward and demand total, unquestioned dominion over the vault.
"The threshold is waiting for an emperor," Juna murmured, her radiant spear held across her chest in defensive vigil.
