The light faded—along with the last traces of the Ritual Chamber. But when their feet touched ground again, they no longer stood in stone halls.
They stood in a white room.
No walls. No ceiling. No shadows. Only space—soft as fog, lit from all directions without a single source. Like being inside a dream not yet fully formed.
Molvar turned in a slow circle. "Alright… this is either heaven, or a very minimalistic prison."
Karl said nothing. He felt it again—a resonance in the air, something tuning itself to the beat of his pulse.
And then, the woman appeared.
She had not entered—she was simply there, as if she had never left.
Her voice was soft, but now carried a sacred weight:
"The Summoning Rite. A privilege granted only to those who bear the memory of the tower. Each shard is a tether to a Guardian—ancient spirits who once stood between order and chaos."
Karl stepped forward, cautious.
"You mean I can summon… someone? From the crystal?"
