The trial was done. The air itself knew it—still, exhausted, almost trembling with relief. The vast expanse of the fourth layer quieted like a beast finally tamed. Atlas stood amidst the fractured remnants of the illusion, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, he felt… light.
Not the light of victory, not the radiance of power—but a quiet, human kind of lightness. A burden unfastened from the ribs. The invisible chains that had been strangling him since the first moment he fell into this hell loosened, and the world seemed almost bearable again.
He looked around. The others had gathered—Aurora, Lara, Eli, Claire, Michael, Raphael, Merlin. Each of them bore the same exhausted awe upon their faces, their expressions caught between pride and confusion. Even the demons in the distance, the formless entities that had once whispered judgment, had retreated into silence.
