The transition through the golden archway behind the defaced monument was surprisingly quiet.
There was no sudden drop in gravity, no blinding flash of spatial displacement, and no violent shift in atmospheric pressure. Instead, stepping past the threshold felt like walking through a heavy curtain of cool silk. The oppressive sulfur, the oily heat, and the choking rust-colored ash of the Middle Pavilion dissolved into thin air, replaced by a still, mountain silence so profound it made the softest breath sound like a rustling leaf.
When the pale-gold light faded from their retinas, Kyle, Seraphina, Falcon, and Yua found themselves standing in an expansive, sunken courtyard paved with pale grey slate.
