The lower gates of the Temple of Time were less of a checkpoint and more of a fortress. Carved directly into the sheer face of the plateau, two massive doors of solid ironwood reinforced with dark bronze stood as the final physical barrier before the grand mechanical lifts. Usually, the courtyard was a quiet transit station for merchants and palace couriers. Tonight, it was a crucible.Torches flickered violently in the biting mountain wind, casting elongated, dancing shadows against the stone walls. General Duwall stood on the raised defensive walkway, his crimson and gold armor gleaming beneath a fine layer of frost. Below him, three hundred men of the Crimson Vanguard stood in locked phalanx formations. Pikes were lowered, shields formed an unbroken wall of polished steel, and archers stood with bows taut on the upper battlements.Chris stood beside Duwall, the heavy royal cloak draping over his shoulders feeling less like a garment and more like a shroud. He clutched the hilt of a standard vanguard blade. His knuckles weren't white anymore. The trembling had stopped. The cold vacuum that Sarata called the negation of magic had settled completely into his bones, numbing the frantic fear that used to define him."Sire," Duwall muttered, his deep baritone barely carrying over the howling wind. "The outer perimeter watches went completely silent five minutes ago. No horns. No dying screams. Just... gone.""He doesn't leave survivors to scream," Chris replied softly. His left eye throbbed, a phantom ache echoing the destruction he had witnessed in his vision. "He's already here."Right on cue, the ambient temperature in the stone courtyard plummeted.The torches on the walls did not sputter or go out—they froze. The orange flames crystallized into jagged, stationary shards of frozen light, plunging the lower gates into a terrifying, unnatural twilight. Mist, thick and smelling of wet ash, began to roll beneath the ironwood gates, spilling over the boots of the frontline soldiers.Thump.A single, rhythmic sound echoed through the heavy wood of the gates. It wasn't the boom of a battering ram. It was the steady, deliberate tap of a wooden staff."Archers!" Duwall bellowed, his voice fracturing the icy silence. "Draw to the ear! On my mark!"Thump.The solid bronze brackets reinforcing the gates began to groan. A line of black, oily frost spread outward from the center seam of the doors, eating into the metal. The reinforced ironwood, built to withstand the assault of siege engines, began to crack like brittle glass."Fire!"A black cloud of a hundred arrows arced into the freezing mist just beyond the threshold. But there were no sounds of impacting wood or tearing flesh. The arrows simply vanished into the fog, their kinetic energy stripped away the moment they breached the perimeter.With a deafening crack that sounded like a mountain splitting open, the lower gates shattered entirely. Massive chunks of frozen wood and twisted bronze exploded inward, flattening the first row of shields. Through the gaping, jagged hole stepped the traveler.Malakai walked into the courtyard with a slow, mechanical grace. His pale skin looked blue under the frozen torchlight, and his eyes were entirely black—swallowing pools of absolute nothingness that mirrored the void inside Chris's own soul."A commendable effort," Malakai murmured, his smooth voice echoing perfectly in every soldier's ear despite the wind. "But the Vanguard of Old does not recognize human boundaries.""Forward!" Duwall screamed, drawing his broadsword and leaping from the walkway into the fray. "For Alced! Cut the demon down!"The Crimson Vanguard surged. Fifty men closed the distance in an instant, their pikes thrusting forward in a synchronized, lethal strike meant to pin a man to the earth.Malakai didn't lift his sword. He didn't even raise his arms. He simply tapped his gnarled staff against the stone floor.A shockwave of dark, liquid shadow erupted outward in a perfect circle. The moment the vapor touched the vanguard's steel, the weapons dissolved into gray powder. The men themselves didn't have time to bleed. The dark energy crawled up their armor, hardening their skin into brittle stone. Within seconds, fifty of Alced's finest soldiers were turned into hollow statues of dark ash, crumbling into dust as the mountain wind tore through the courtyard."Stay back!" Chris roared, his voice carrying an unnatural, resonant power that stopped the remaining soldiers in their tracks.He stepped forward, leaving the safety of the walkway. He walked past General Duwall, who was staring in paralyzed horror at the empty suits of armor littering the ground. Chris drew his blade, but as he did, he didn't assume a standard combat stance. He felt the cold reservoir beneath his ribs open up.Malakai stopped, his black eyes locking onto Chris. The twisted smile returned to the traveler's lips. "Ah. The cosmic counterweight. Lord Astana.""I am the king of this realm," Chris said, his breathing perfectly steady as the air around him began to ripple with a strange, distorting pressure. "And you are trespassing."