The Septet crossed the emerald threshold, the light swallowing them whole.
When their eyes adjusted, they found themselves not in a forge… but standing in the midst of an endless desert. The sand was black, faintly shimmering as though each grain had once been molten glass. Above stretched a sky stained with green auroras, the horizon crackling faintly as if lightning had been imprisoned in the air itself.
The heat pressed against their skin — not scorching, but heavy, oppressive, as though the desert itself tested their willpower.
Remiel narrowed his eyes, crimson gaze scanning the horizon. “This… isn’t what I expected.”
Seran clenched his fists, the faint hum of energy rippling through his aura. “Feels like the air itself is alive.”
Far in the distance, rising like a god among morta
