Kincaid's room disappeared before he could put down his glass.
One moment, he stood beside the chair from which he had watched Max reopen the dungeon. The next, his feet rested on a black floor reflecting stars that did not exist above it.
The Elder God's assembly hall had no walls.
Terraces curved around an empty center beneath a sky containing too many constellations. Each seat had been made for one apprentice, although made was not quite the correct word. Some resembled thrones. Others were cushions, pools of fire, patches of living forest, carved stones, or spaces where the light bent around something that did not want to be seen.
The last time Kincaid stood there, nearly a thousand places had been occupied.
Fewer than four hundred held anyone now.
