Leon stepped through.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the world exploded with sensation.
Heat. Roaring heat, like standing inside a sun that had learned how to breathe fire. The air shimmered, thick with golden motes swirling like embers. Beneath his boots was not stone, but a battlefield carved from molten glass—its surface cracked and glowing with veins of molten light.
And in the distance, rising like a fortress of gods, were the Thrones.
Not chairs—not in the human sense. They were colossal constructs, each shaped from different elements of reality itself. One shimmered with ocean depths locked in crystal. Another was a lattice of black steel that bled lightning. A third seemed carved from the night sky, its surface studded with stars that burned and died in seconds.
They weren't empty. Figures sat upon them—impossibly vast, their features obscured by distance and radiance. Yet even from here, Leon could feel their attention the moment he arrived.
