Seven.
They stood as one, and the platform responded.
The golden step pulsed with light, and that light spread outward in a perfect circle, forming a halo that rose into the air and then descended upon them like a curtain of stars.
The moment it touched them, they stiffened.
The powerful golden aura sank deeply into their flesh, their bones and their very souls.
The staircase had tested their strength, their resolve and their ability to adapt, and had found them worthy.
And now, it rewarded them.
Each of them was pulled into a private space, a suspended moment carved from eternity itself.
There, the legacy offered them not just treasure and tools, but also transformation.
Nyxara found herself drifting in a void of glass and shadow, surrounded by reflections of herself, each one wearing a different mask, a different identity she had used to survive the brutal hierarchy of the drow.
