The great gate pulsed in the dark like a living thing.
Its violet chains writhed as though sensing their approach, humming with energy that made the skin crawl. It wasn't just magic—it was layered intent. A will behind the warding, alien and suffocating, watching them. Judging them.
Inigo stepped forward first, his boots squelching on the blood-slick floor. His M4 was ready, mag topped, his grip tight.
"Whatever's beyond this," he muttered, "it knows we're here."
"I feel it," Arienne said softly, her voice distant. "It's old. Too old for words. And powerful."
Korrik grunted and rolled his shoulders. "So was the last bastard. We dropped him, didn't we?"
Lyra said nothing, but her eyes didn't leave the chains.
