From the void rose a structure—a gate of midnight iron, shaped like a blade plunged through a crown. At its base, an altar of mirrorstone waited, reflecting not their faces, but their souls.
"This is where I reclaim what was lost," she whispered. "The Sovereign Keys. The fragments of my true dominion."
She stepped toward the altar—and the void responded.
Visions tore into existence—not illusions, but truths of the Sovereign's past:
Valeria atop a throne of glass and flame, legions bowing before her.
The betrayal—seven warlords binding her essence to the Vault, tearing her from time.
Her last act: to split her soul, one half to sleep, one half to await rebirth.
Asher watched, jaw tightening. "They did this to you."
"They feared me," she said. "They feared what truth I brought. What I uncovered in the Depths."
She placed her hand on the altar.
The entire realm trembled.
