Even Raya was twitchy. An ancient divine dragon, and she was stepping lightly. That's when it clicked. This place wasn't just dangerous for my health; it was dangerous for my soul.
I looked back at the door. That feeling, the one Novella warned me about, the one from the altar, the one that lingered in the steam of my coffee offerings, it was all here. It was concentrated.
"You brought me here," I whispered, not to the dragon or the giants, but to the invisible audience watching from the shadows of the gray sky. "You wrote this into the margins, didn't you?"
The Door didn't answer. It just waited. Then the Titans didn't just arrive; they redefined the concept of "heavy entry." Each step was a rhythmic assault on the tectonic plates, sending tremors up my boots that made my teeth click together. Their massive forms blotted out what little sickly gray light the sky offered, casting shadows across the dead ground that looked like ink stains on a shroud.
Then—Sir Alex stopped.
