The crystalline gate shimmered in the distance like a mirage suspended in still air. Its surface hummed, not with power, but with intention. Every pulse of light it gave off wasn't random—it was communication. Language. Something older than speech and more binding than contracts.
Leon stepped toward it, his burns still faintly glowing under his armor, the scent of scorched obsidian still clinging to his clothes. But his stride didn't falter.
Roman jogged up beside him, eyeing the gate. "It's different. This one... doesn't look like a battle entrance."
"It's not," Milim said softly. "This is a test of will, not strength."
"Then that puts Leon right in the center," Roselia added, keeping pace behind them. "No one in this team has more sheer willpower than he does."
Leon didn't answer.
He was already reaching out.
His fingertips brushed the crystalline surface.
The hum deepened.
The gate didn't open.
It spoke.
