Vergil crossed the portal alone—as Brynhild had made clear, only the competitor could pass at that moment.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, the world changed.
He emerged into a colossal corridor, vast as the interior of an ancient coliseum. The curved walls stretched as far as the eye could see, illuminated by ethereal torches and ancient inscriptions that pulsed slowly, as if the place itself breathed. The air was heavy, laden with expectation, blood, and glory.
Brynhild crossed soon after.
She went ahead, firm steps, impeccable posture, naturally assuming the role of guide. Yet, there was something about her… distant. Her gaze fixed ahead, her expression too serious for someone accustomed to war.
Vergil noticed.
"Are things bad?" he asked casually, walking behind her. "You seem… disconnected."
Brynhild didn't turn her face away.
