Argolaith stepped through the veil.
And the world changed.
There was no sky.
No horizon.
No wind.
Only space.
He stood in a realm not meant for the human mind—vast and incomprehensible. The stars here were wrong—some pulsed like beating hearts, others spiraled backward in impossible loops, leaving trails of color that smeared across reality.
In the far distance—so far it looked like a myth stitched into the edge of perception—loomed the Heartroot.
It turned slowly in the void, its roots stretching across planets, its branches tangled in the curvature of stars. A tree so massive that light bent around its crown.
Argolaith stared, jaw tight.
It's weeks away, he realized. Even if I ran the whole way, I'd never reach it in a day. Maybe not even in a month.
The path wasn't a path.
There was nothing beneath him.
And yet—he was standing.
