The crimson gate sealed shut behind him.
For a moment, there was only stillness—no sound, no wind, no trace of life. Zero stood in the middle of a vast obsidian corridor, his breath visible in the chill that hung unnaturally in the air. The walls pulsed faintly, veins of molten red threading across the black stone like living arteries. Every step he took echoed as if the palace itself were whispering in response.
The deeper he went, the heavier the atmosphere became. The mana in the air wasn't just thick—it was alive. It pushed back, resisting his every movement, testing him like a gatekeeper ensuring only those worthy could approach.
Zero's eyes narrowed as he pressed forward.
A faint tremor rippled beneath his boots. The ground shifted, and from the ceiling, drops of glowing liquid mana fell like crimson rain, dissolving into the air before touching the floor. The entire corridor began to hum, low and rhythmic, like a living organ.
And then he saw it.
The throne room.
