The door opened into a room divided. The left half was fashioned from a stone so black it seemed to drink the light, while the right half was made of a pale, white material that emitted a soft, internal glow. The air itself felt bisected—the left side was cool and carried a scent of deep earth and quiet, while the right was warm and smelled of ozone and possibility. There was no visible barrier, just a clean, sharp line down the exact center of the chamber where the two halves met.
"Well," Valeria said from the quiet of my mind, "this is unsubtle."
I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me. The room was filled with a slow, drifting galaxy of tiny lights. Motes of energy, thousands of them, floated in the air like lazy dust. Half were points of brilliant, pure white light. The other half were motes of absolute, hungry darkness. They drifted on invisible currents, a chaotic, beautiful dance of opposites.
