The door did not exist. Not in the classical sense, at least. It phased in and out of reality, stitched together by fluctuating threads of code, the form refusing to solidify.
One moment it was steel and stone, the next it shimmered into lines of gold script and recursive glyphs written in a language the system was never meant to understand.
Kaito didn't hesitate. His boots passed through the veil with a gentle whine, the world tilting slightly around him as gravity lost its grip. Nyra followed him through, silent and unshakeable. Then Kael and Iris stepped through—refusing to be left behind, even if none of them knew what lay in front.
Air on the other side was colder, but not in any physical sense. It was dense with memory, static-charged and incomplete.
They walked into a hall of mirrors.
Not ordinary mirrors. They did not echo their bodies but their information—shards of what they had been, what they were, and what they would be.
