The place pulsed with meaning, as if it had been waiting—not for anyone, but for them
The murmur of old echoes ran along the stone floor, whispering names in languages none of them had ever heard, but all of them understood. It wasn't just a place. It was a memory. A convergence of countless histories, preserved in spatial anomaly, frozen just long enough for the right variables to enter and start it moving again.
Charlotte walked forward first, her boots scuffing against the sigils carved into the ground. "This… is older than the tournament itself."
"No," Marin said, scanning the walls with narrowed eyes. "This is older than the idea of the tournament."
