The moment Arthur stepped through the black rift, the world around him shifted.
Gone was the colossal staircase where countless warriors had fought to reach the pinnacle. In its place stretched an ethereal realm, untouched by time and filled with an oppressive, ancient aura.
Floating pieces of land drifted like silent sentinels through a sea of golden mist.
Massive, rune-etched pillars loomed in the distance, crackling with residual energy. Each breath carried the weight of millennia, as if the very air hummed with the echoes of long-forgotten emperors.
Arthur's golden blue eyes locked onto the center of the realm—where a lone stone pedestal stood, untouched by dust or decay.
Atop it, a black-and-gold storage ring pulsed with a faint yet overwhelming pressure, as though the heavens themselves acknowledged its significance.
