The bridge was narrow, barely wide enough for one man. The path wasn't stone; it was constructed from thousands of interlocking human ribs, bleached white and fused together. Below the bridge, on both sides, was a black void that swallowed the light.
At the center of the bridge stood a figure.
He was tall, draped in armor that looked like it was forged from the same dying stars as the face below. He wore a crown of jagged spikes. He didn't hold a weapon. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Xavier with eyes that were older than the system itself.
But this was no statue. This was a Memory. An Ancestor.
Xavier wiped the blood from his mouth and stepped onto the ribs. They crunched under his boots.
He walked until he was five paces away from the King.
The King didn't speak. He simply unclasped his hands and held out a closed fist. He opened it.
Resting on his palm was a small, pulsing sphere of concentrated starlight. Power. Pure, undiluted Golden authority.
