The aurora above them twisted, not into cold light but into a vast, spiraling chorus of colors—fractured, jagged, and beautiful. Each shard of their battle, each refusal, each scream of defiance had been woven into its song. The Hall was no longer a court, no longer a gallery of judgment. It was a cathedral of resonance, alive with memory.
The chains underfoot loosened, no longer binding, but shifting into a path of broken links that hovered in the air like a bridge. It stretched upward into the aurora, leading into the unknown heights of the Tower.
Naval wiped the blood from his knuckles, smirking despite his trembling arms. "Hah… figures. Break a mirror, build a bridge. This place really likes symbolism."
Milim sat up, wings flaring as her grin widened. "Nah, this place just likes us. Finally smart enough to realize we're awesome."
