The gate this time was cold.
Not in temperature—in intent.
Leon touched it, and the metal didn't pulse like usual. It resisted—as if measuring whether he even had the right to pass through.
Then, with a slow hiss of ancient locks turning, it allowed him.
But not the others.
Not this time.
[Access Denied: Party Members must wait at the Threshold Vault]
[Solo Floor: Identity Classification in Progress…]
As the gate closed behind him, Leon found himself in a hall of mirrors.
Not glass.
These were mirrors of truth.
They reflected not his image, but versions of himself.
Some younger. Some older. One wore the uniform from Earth, long forgotten. Another was dressed like a Sovereign, crown on his brow, eyes emotionless. One looked shattered—cracked like porcelain, with streaks of regret carved into his chest.
Leon walked past each without pause.
They weren't distractions.
They were possibilities.
And at the end of the hallway—
A door.
But not a simple one.
