The child continued staring at him.
Waiting for an answer.
As though Demion's reaction made no sense.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them before the child smiled once more.
"You wandered quite far this time."
Demion's heart pounded.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The child blinked. Confusion briefly crossed his face before disappearing as quickly as it had come.
"Come."
He turned away.
"The Hall is already waiting."
Demion didn't move.
His pulse still thundered inside his chest.
The Hall.
Waiting.
None of it meant anything to him.
The child glanced back.
"Azael?"
The name felt wrong.
Like a wound being pressed.
"I'm not Azael."
The answer came instantly.
Firm.
Certain.
For a moment, the child simply stared.
Then he laughed.
Not mockingly.
Not cruelly.
Genuinely amused.
"As expected."
Demion frowned.
The child offered no explanation. Instead, he continued walking, his white robes swaying gently behind him.
"Come."
Demion hesitated.
Every instinct warned him that something was wrong.
But remaining here would not provide answers.
Eventually, he followed.
The palace seemed endless.
White stone stretched in every direction, while rivers of golden light flowed through walls brighter than polished marble.
The farther they walked, the stranger everything felt.
Not because it was beautiful.
But because it wasn't unfamiliar.
That realization twisted his stomach.
As though some hidden part of him had already walked these halls before.
Many times.
The thought frightened him.
At last, enormous doors appeared ahead.
They towered into the heavens, thousands of feet tall, their surface covered in symbols Demion couldn't understand.
The child placed a hand against them.
The massive doors swung open effortlessly.
Light flooded outward.
Beyond them lay a hall.
Demion stopped.
Rows upon rows of seats filled a chamber so vast that its far end vanished into golden mist.
Divine servants moved between the aisles carrying scrolls, books, cups, and objects unlike anything he had ever seen.
And seated throughout the hall—
were gods.
Demion knew it immediately.
Not because of how they looked.
Some appeared human.
Most did not.
One seemed carved entirely from crystal.
Another was formed from living shadow.
A woman sat calmly with six golden arms folded across her lap.
An old man possessed no face at all.
Yet despite their differences, they all shared the same overwhelming presence.
Not evil.
Not kind.
Simply beyond human.
Conversations throughout the hall gradually faded.
One by one, every gaze turned toward him.
The pressure struck immediately.
It felt as though mountains themselves had begun watching.
Demion fought the urge to step backward.
The child continued walking, completely unaffected.
As though none of this mattered.
Reluctantly, Demion followed.
Only then did he notice it.
The throne.
At the far end of the hall.
Above every seat.
Above every god.
A colossal throne of white stone and gold.
Waiting.
His chest tightened.
Something about it filled him with unease.
The child stopped beside it.
Then, without warning—
Demion's body moved.
He froze.
His feet stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
Panic surged through him.
He tried to stop.
Nothing happened.
His legs continued moving.
The hall remained silent.
Watching.
Expecting.
His pulse raced faster with every step.
Eventually, he reached the throne.
Before he could resist—
he sat.
The moment he did, agony exploded behind his eyes.
Demion gasped.
His vision blurred violently.
An unbearable pressure surged through his skull.
Voices echoed somewhere beyond hearing.
Countless voices.
Countless memories.
Fragments of things he could neither understand nor remember.
Then words escaped his mouth.
Words he had never learned.
Words he had never spoken.
"Eye of Divinity."
The hall fell silent.
Completely silent.
Demion looked upward.
An eye was opening above the throne.
Massive.
Ancient.
Watching everything.
Watching everyone.
Fear crawled through his chest.
He had no idea how he had done this.
Or why.
The eye fully opened.
Beyond it lay a street.
A familiar street.
Mud.
Broken stone.
Rotting wood.
The slums.
Demion's breath caught in his throat.
"No..."
His father stood there.
Begging.
Just as he had before.
Exactly as he remembered.
And the eye continued to watch.
The vision moved forward.
Unstoppable.
As though it intended to show him everything.