The transition was immediate. No swirling lights, no system shimmer—just one step, and the world changed.
Leon found himself on a narrow bridge of cracked marble suspended in endless grey. Above, below, and to every side stretched a fog so dense that even his perception couldn't pierce more than a few dozen meters. There were no stars, no sun, no wind. The air was heavy and still.
His footsteps echoed louder than they should have.
He kept walking.
There was no system prompt this time. No name for the floor. No enemies, no guides. Just silence.
Then—after several long minutes—he saw it.
A figure stood in the middle of the bridge.
Not waiting.
Not hostile.
Just… standing.
A man, draped in a dark traveler's cloak, hands in his pockets. His hood was up, and his face wasn't visible—but Leon knew immediately this wasn't another trial, or a fight.
This was a message.
Or maybe… a warning.
"Leon Aetheren," the figure said without turning. "You weren't supposed to come this far."
