The same guard that had brought me here stood waiting at the end of the hall, spear grounded, shoulders rigid.
He nodded once when I approached. I returned it with a small, polite smile.
He didn't smile back. His face stayed carved in that same cold seriousness—the look of a man who served out of duty, not belief.
Without a word, he turned and led me down the winding corridor, our footsteps echoing evenly in the silence.
When we reached the last bend, the sound changed. A low hum, a chorus of voices. The air smelled of roasted meat, smoke, and ferment.
The guard pushed open the double doors.
And the world changed.
Where the Colosseum should have been—where I'd stood surrounded by crimson hills and open sky—stood something else entirely. A dome covered the heavens, vast and seamless, its inner surface shimmering faintly like living glass. The walls were now lined in dark banners and carvings.
