PREVIEW
... til it reflected nothing real. It did not shift with wind. It did not bear footprints for long. The Lower Heaven was a place designed to forget those who walked upon it.
Tier upon tier of marble terraces rose in concentric rings, veined with gold and inscribed with runes older than language. Thousands filled them: demigods with diluted sparks of divinity, lesser gods clinging to relevance, ascended champions swollen with borrowed power. Their presences pressed outward in layers—heat, gra ...
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