Then, finally, he spoke.
Not loud. Not soft. Just certain.
"They've built this place well."
He stepped forward again, and the Expanse adjusted beneath him. Welcoming the only thing left in it that still moved by will, not design.
The godless crucifix didn't answer right away.
He stood perfectly still, the silence between them folding into the Expanse like a blade into flesh. The ball of light in his left hand—the half-soul—trembled again. Not from fear. From strain. From presence. It had no eyes, no face, no body… and yet he could feel it glaring back at him.
He turned his wrist slightly, letting the soul's glow spill across his palm. The blue light shimmered against the red-tinted mist coiling at his feet, casting thin reflections along the obsidian tiles below. A pulse pushed through his fingers—resistance, alive and still trying.
His voice came low.
"You're not in a place souls were meant to reach."
