The sensation of transport was violent.
It wasn't the smooth, internal shift of my Spatial Compression. It felt like being pulled through a sieve. My stomach lurched, my vision fractured into prismatic shards, and a high-pitched whining screamed in my ears.
Then, silence.
I hit the ground hard, rolling on a surface that felt like polished glass. I was on my feet instantly, vines summoned to my fingertips, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Mom?" Lily groaned, pushing herself up beside me.
We were standing on a platform of white marble, floating in the center of absolute nothing. There was no sky, no ground, no horizon. Just a tapestry of swirling nebulae and distant galaxies, turning slowly around us.
"Welcome to Observatory Delta," a voice intoned.
I spun around.
Standing before us was Elyon. He looked exactly as he had in the valley—impossibly tall, wearing robes of white and gold, his eyes burning with the light of a dying star. He didn't walk; he hovered an inch above the floor, his feet never touching the pristine surface.
"Founder Shen," he said, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness. "And the Heir. You are punctual. The Directorate appreciates punctuality."
"Where are we?" I asked, scanning for threats. The architecture was alien—gravity-defying bridges connected floating islands of stone, all orbiting a massive central spire that looked like a needle piercing the void.
"This is a waystation," Elyon explained. "A neutral construct located between the folds of reality. Here, the politics of worlds do not apply. Only the law of the Directorate."
He gestured toward a massive archway behind him. "The Council awaits. They do not like to be kept waiting."
We walked across a bridge of transparent glass. Below us, the void yawned open, an endless drop into the abyss. I felt Lily grip my hand tighter.
"Steady," I whispered. "Don't show fear."
"They're gods, Mom," she whispered back.
"No," I said, my voice hard. "They're just people who leveled up faster than us. Remember that."
We passed through the archway and entered a circular chamber. The ceiling was open to the stars. A long table dominated the center, floating a few inches off the floor.
And sitting around it were beings that defied logic.
To my left sat a woman made entirely of shifting sand, her form constantly collapsing and rebuilding. To my right sat a cyborg whose face was a digital screen scrolling with endless data. Further down, a massive suit of black armor sat empty, inhabited only by a swirling shadow.
Twelve seats. Eleven filled.
The empty seat was at the end.
"Take your place, Founder," Elyon commanded.
I walked the length of the table. Every pair of eyes—or sensors—tracked me. I sat down. The chair was made of ancient wood, gnarled and strong. As I sat, roots burst from the armrests, trying to bind my wrists.
A test.
I didn't flinch. I pushed my will down through the wood. I am the Gardener, I thought. You serve me.
The roots recoiled, slithering back into the wood.
A low, rumbling laugh echoed from the shadow knight. "The Gardener has thorns," he rasped.