The first crack came like thunder muffled by glass.
A fracture spread down the side of Gabriel's crystalline cell, shimmering like lightning caught in ice.
Atlas drove his hand deeper into the seam, fingers burning with the same golden blood that still pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
He had no strength left from his battle with the gods, yet the Guide whispered inside him — a low, serpentine rhythm threading through his mind:
{{{{{Push...Their Golden blood is key to everything...}}}}}}
The crystal screamed. Not metaphorically — it screamed, in a pitch that sounded alive, as if the palace itself resented being torn apart. Shards cascaded like liquid stars, scattering light across the ruined floor. Gabriel's chains trembled.
And then they snapped.
