...King Solomon's voice was firm, unwavering.
"Because I said so."
Enel's fists clenched, his eyes burning with barely contained fury, but Solomon continued before he could speak.
"Even if you somehow managed to reach that place, you would never be able to enter." His golden scepter gleamed under the ethereal glow of the Mirror of Time. "Not without a pure soul… or the keys."
Enel's gaze flickered back to the gates.
And there they were.
Three keyholes, perfectly carved into different sections of the towering structure. Each one pulsed faintly, as if waiting for something—no, for someone.
But before Enel could even process his next move—
Solomon waved his scepter.
The Mirror of Time let out a deep, resonant hum.
And then—
It shut down.
The once-flowing images of cosmic truths, of paths unseen, of the very fabric of reality itself—vanished.
The light faded. The surface of the mirror became still.
Nothing but an empty reflection.
Enel's body moved before his mind did.
