The second Key pulsed faintly in Walter's hand. The sigil it carried etched itself into Lucius's soul the moment Walter passed it to him. He felt the weight of it—not in mass, but in memory. Not merely a token of power, but a fragment of responsibility left behind by a dying god.
The Court of the First Pantheon faded as the gate behind them reopened. They stepped into the transition realm, a liminal space between worlds, stitched together from fragments of ancient thrones and forgotten prayers. Here, the Four Pillars hovered closer to Lucius's back, as if sensing the trial ahead.
Walter was quiet.
Too quiet.
Lucius watched him as they walked the bridge of light between dimensions. The old man's hands were clenched. His jaw tight. Even his shadow wavered with unease.
"Walter," Lucius finally said. "What's next?"
Walter didn't answer right away. He stopped and looked at Lucius.
"You're about to walk through the memories of the Kings who came before you."
"Memories?"
