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Dabi stood in the clearing, the faint glow of the runes still lingering in his vision. His breath came slow and steady, his heartbeat gradually settling after the surge of energy that had coursed through him.
The pedestal before him was ancient, worn by time, yet it held a power that defied its weathered appearance. He could feel it—like a heartbeat beneath his fingertips, an echo of something far greater than himself.
This is just the beginning.
He had followed the voice, deciphered the signs, and now, standing before the first fragment of the gate, he could sense the path unfolding before him. The pieces had been scattered, hidden in places long forgotten, waiting for someone worthy to reclaim them.
Dabi reached into his satchel, pulling out the parchment where he had carefully sketched the symbol from the stone marker. He unrolled it, comparing the lines with those carved into the pedestal. They matched perfectly.
