[: 3rd POV :]
Daniel stood in the silence that followed the vanishing of the last soul.
His body ached not from battle, but from something far deeper—an ache in his heart, in his soul.
Yet he knew…
This wasn't the end.
Not yet.
He turned his gaze slowly to the dark corridor beyond, where more doors waited, sealed and silent.
Each one pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of something alive—something suffering.
His eyes narrowed.
He clenched his fists, drawing in a trembling breath as the Sword of Final Rule returned to his side.
"There are more," he muttered. "More like them. Trapped. Merged. Broken…"
He began walking.
His boots echoed softly against the metallic floor, each step a silent vow.
The next door stood before him, forged of some alloy thicker than the last.
It bore claw marks from the inside, dried streaks of blackened blood and runes burned into its surface—failed escape attempts, perhaps or desperation given form.
Daniel didn't hesitate.
