A flood of images exploded in my mind like a storm breaking through glass. I was no longer standing before the gate but transported elsewhere—somewhere impossibly ancient. I saw men in dark cloaks chanting under a blood-red sky. Their hands etched the glowing runes into molten iron, binding layers of enchantments with each strike of their hammers.
Not long, the scene shifted. The gate stood in its infancy, glowing faintly as magic swirled around it. Each rune was tied to the blood of its creators, protective spells built to guard whatever lay beyond. I could feel the weight of the runes—each carved line throbbing with life, feeding off the energy of those who dared approach.
More flashes. I could see the patterns behind the enchantments now. The way the runes intertwined, connected. The
