Kyle's eyes snapped open.
At first, he thought he was still in the royal palace, but the oppressive weight of the air quickly told him otherwise. The world was wrong.
He stood not on stone or earth, but a smooth, dark surface that shimmered like obsidian.
The sky—or what passed for it—was an endless swirl of violet and black, occasionally flashing with golden cracks like a fractured mirror.
A chill seeped into his bones.
"…Not Earth."
Kyle muttered, adjusting his stance instinctively. His fingers hovered near the hilt of his blade, but there was no enemy in sight—yet.
It felt familiar. All too familiar.
This place reminded him of the space Charrin had banished him to.
But this was worse. Stronger. More ancient. More aware. A twisted echo of the divine realm, choked with thick, stagnant power.
Then, a voice.
<
It was neither masculine nor feminine—just a whisper brushing against his thoughts. Commanding. Hungry. Curious.
