Those words—those dismissive, amused words from the Empress—irked Atlas more than he wanted to admit. They crawled under his skin and settled somewhere deep, somewhere old, somewhere he had no name for.
He forced himself not to react, but inside, a faint tremor rippled through him, like an echo of a memory he didn't possess.
The elder who had guided them this far stepped forward, robes dragging softly against the stone floor. His voice was gentle but firm, the voice of someone who had seen enough worlds fall to know caution wasn't cowardice.
"Yes," he said. "Following the Three Empresses is the best option. Under their shadow, no force will dare move against you. Not now. Not with what's stirring beyond this mountain, beyound our faith, beyound everything..."
The moment he said it, the cave seemed to thicken—air growing heavier, temperature tightening like an unseen hand gripping the lungs.
