Milim's wings twitched, every instinct in her body screaming to tear the kneeling host apart, to shatter the suffocating reverence before it could swallow Leon whole. But when she stepped forward, her fire met not resistance, but stillness—an unshakable silence, older than rage.
Roman's bloodied fists tightened. "Gatekeepers, huh? Then what's behind that gate that needs him more than it needs us?"
Roselia's ember blade hissed in her grip, light bending across its edge. "Doesn't matter. If they're bowing, it means he's already inside their script. The question is… does he get to write back?"
Liliana's threads wove frantic patterns around Leon, trying to keep his body upright even as his veins glowed like molten cracks in stone. Her whisper barely carried. "It's burning him alive… but it won't let him fall. The Listener wants him alive at any cost."
Naval's trident thrummed low, as though echoing the Tower's endless pulse. His eyes narrowed. "No. Not alive. Chosen."
