The sky of the fifth universe began to change color. Not because it was day or night—but because their presence disrupted a rhythm that had long been untouched. The mist turned pink. The ground turned a shiny black. The air seemed to hold its breath.
Reed walked ahead, his body tense. Behind him, twenty soldiers from Adrasteia marched silently. They were no ordinary troops. They were Bearers of Form, chosen for their ability to carry meaning within their bodies. But here, meaning felt like a burden.
"Do you feel that?" Shia asked, her eyes darting, scanning the shadows that never stayed where they were.
"Yes," Rina replied. "This world has no center. But it reshapes us from within."
Reed's steps stopped. Before him, a path appeared. But not one—but three. Each one moved in an impossible direction: one ascending into the endless sky, one descending into the dark ground, and one… spiraling.
"This is not a choice of direction," Rina whispered. "This is the judgment of form."
