The shimmering veil parted, not with a dramatic rip or a
thunderous boom, but with a gentle sigh, like the rustling of silk on a summer breeze. Derick found himself standing on the threshold of an ethereal realm, a landscape painted in hues of amethyst and rose gold. The air hummed with a quiet energy, a symphony of light and sound that soothed the centuries-old turmoil within him. He had expected fire, brimstone, perhaps a judgment of some kind. Instead, he was met with an overwhelming sense of peace.
He had expected… something. Anything, really, but this tranquil beauty. For centuries, he had been a prisoner of his own dark magic, a puppet dancing to the tune of ancient, malevolent forces. He had known only shadows, only the bitter taste of power gained through suffering and inflicted
