Time had no meaning here.
Lucius floated in a world between existence and void. There was no sky, no ground. Only a vast horizon of layered clouds and lightless mist, drifting like memories half-remembered. Each breath he took echoed against a realm that wasn't really there. Time didn't pass. It simply was.
"So this is Veralis," he muttered.
The air tasted of ancient dust and timeless cold. His feet hovered just above a shifting, translucent floor that gleamed like polished glass but cracked and rearranged itself with every step. Each movement disrupted the natural order, fracturing his perception. The very concept of direction warped around him. There was no forward or backward—only now.
In the distance, a figure stood alone atop a lone platform of silver stone. She was facing away, but even from here Lucius could sense the immense pressure her presence generated. She was like gravity given form, drawing all timelines toward her. Not just power, but significance.
