The world convulsed.
As the observatory imploded inwards, Rose's strike with the key didn't just expel Riftborn—it summoned something deeper. The room collapsed into a spiral of colorless light, and in the next instant, the group stood in the middle of a vast salt flat beneath a violet sky. No sound. No wind. Just space stretched too thin.
Mortain caught Rose as she staggered. "Where are we?"
"Nowhere," Nimbus replied. "A buffer realm between dimensions. This place doesn't have time until someone starts thinking too hard."
Gregory blinked. "So don't think. Got it. I'm exceptionally qualified."
All around them, Riftborn emerged—dozens at first, then hundreds. Creatures shaped like broken math and whispered prayers. Some walked like people. Some didn't walk at all. They weren't attacking.
They were waiting.
"Why aren't they charging?" Basil asked nervously, chewing on a biscuit for comfort.
"Because they're listening," Mortain said slowly.
Rose looked up. At the heart of the sky, the scar in the Veil had opened again. It glowed like a wound stitched shut with regret. The key in her hand trembled.
"They're not after me," she whispered. "They're after what I touched."
Gregory stepped forward. "You tore the curtain and looked into what's behind it. They want that. They want you to do it again."
"And if I do?"
Mortain stepped beside her, eyes grim. "They'll follow you forever."
Rose clenched the key in her palm. "And if I refuse?"
"They'll consume everything else until you give in."
Silence fell.
The Riftborn began to move—not toward the group, but behind Rose. Forming rows. A procession. A march.
"They're aligning behind you," Nimbus murmured. "Like a general. Or… a prophet."
"This is not what I signed up for," Rose muttered.
Basil raised his hand. "On a scale of one to 'we need to run screaming,' where are we?"
"Somewhere between cult-leader and magical apocalypse," Mortain said.
Gregory cleared his throat. "I've seen this before. In the Old Tomes of Unwise Predictions. 'When the Riftborn bow to the key-bearer, the Veil shall walk.' That's… you."
Rose turned. The Riftborn parted for her.
Not attacking. Not hissing. Worshipping.
She looked at Mortain, pain flickering behind her eyes. "They think I'm going to open it again."
He stepped close. "You don't have to. You're not alone in this."
"I know." She slipped her hand into his. "But I think I need to understand them. If I can guide them… maybe I can stop them."
She stepped forward.
The Riftborn knelt.
Nimbus whispered, "So, uh… should we be worried our friend just became a multi-dimensional deity?"
Basil offered, "As long as she doesn't start glowing or floating dramatically, I think we're okay."
Rose didn't float. Yet.
But she did raise the key and call out—not to destroy, but to command.
And the Riftborn obeyed.