The massive doors loomed before them like the gates of judgment itself.
They stood at the threshold, chests heaving, bodies battered and bloodied from the endless climb. Finn's side burned from the deep gash, blood still seeping through his torn tunic. Mira leaned heavily on her staff, silver threads flickering weakly around its length. Dorian's left arm hung useless at his side, the skin blistered and raw, but his right hand still crackled with dying embers of flame.
None of them spoke. Words felt unnecessary now. They had fought through liquid horrors, void amalgamations, crystal serpents, and the tower's own malice. They had bled and broken and kept climbing. The door was the end of one trial and the beginning of another.
Finn reached for the handle, fingers brushing ancient wood that felt warm, almost alive.
"Together," he said.
Mira and Dorian nodded.
The doors began to part with a low, grinding groan that vibrated through their bones.
Then the pressure hit.
