The Gate opened without sound.
Its enormous doors did not grind against stone nor tremble beneath weight. They simply drifted apart , as though the realm itself had accepted a decision that could no longer be postponed.
A pale radiance spilled through the widening gap.
One by one, figures emerged.
The first were clad in armor that reflected neither light nor shadow, each step measured, each expression carved into quiet resolve.
Behind them came others draped in robes embroidered with symbols that shifted whenever the eye tried to follow them.
They moved in perfect formation, not because anyone had ordered them to, but because thousands of years of rule had taught them exactly where they belonged.
Major gods walked at the front.
The lesser deities followed several paces behind.
No one spoke.
Francis remained where he was.
