As Noah stood bewildered, the ascent began to slow. Within a minute, the fierce wind propelling him gradually faded.

Colors reassembled in his vision.

The space was no longer chaotic or void—instead, it glowed with a faint cyan hue, the kind of light seen at dawn, not yet fully bright.

The rising sensation vanished. Noah drifted gently downward and landed softly atop thick, swirling mist.

He had no idea what was happening.

The mirror man’s sudden appearance. The abrupt lift into the sky.

This wasn’t a dream—he could feel the air’s temperature, the wind brushing past his ears. Everything was vividly real, starkly unlike the hazy blur of dreams.

First: Noah was certain he couldn’t fly.

Second: he guessed he was in some extraordinary state.

“An out-of-body experience?”

He mused—Ayn Continent wasn’t a cultivation world. Where would “soul projection” even come from?

He scanned the surroundings, trying to place where he’d been brought.

Layer upon layer of clouds stretched endlessly. The starry sky above shimmered surreal, like wild artistic graffiti—or shattered rice crackers trampled into fragments.

Mist hung thick, obscuring the distance.

Noah felt like he was in a sauna that wasn’t stuffy at all. Beneath his feet lay no floor, only dense, yielding mist.

He took a few steps. Footprints appeared clearly, then vanished as the mist re-formed.

No dust. No dirt.

No other life—not even a single blade of grass.

The mirror man had vanished without a trace, as if he’d only been a guide to deliver Noah here.

“What the hell is this place?” Noah muttered, glancing at his hands.

His palms still felt solid, but duller in color. He could see straight through them—right to the faint mist below.

Same for the rest of his body: semi-transparent, limbs flickering between presence and absence.

He saw it—a floating spectral figure. His own soul.

First time ever seeing it. Honestly? Kinda novel.

But why had the mirror-self brought him here? The place was strange, yet its purpose remained unclear.

Then he understood.

A faint dawn-like light appeared.

Like a painter’s brush, it swiftly sketched a majestic shape.

A grand gate emerged before him, traced by that pale glow.

Noah had never seen its material. Not wood. Not metal. Even with two lifetimes of knowledge, he’d never seen a gateframe that *flowed*.

Pale golden liquid drifted slowly, framing the gate and enclosing a wall-thick mist at its center. Beyond? Utterly hidden.

No doorknob. No door panel. Only dense mist within.

Staring at it, Noah half-expected epic orchestral music to swell the moment he stepped through—and a massive health bar to pop up.

But he was powerless. No iron sword. Nothing.

Surely they wouldn’t throw him straight at some Nameless King or Fallen God?

If he could, he’d turn and walk away.

He turned.

The massive misty gate instantly reappeared right before him.

Noah: “…”

Wait—could a gate *teleport*?

He hesitated, whipped his head around again.

No matter how fast he moved, the gate stayed locked at the center of his vision, alive and tracking his gaze.

Absurd. He stood still, faked a few moves, even bent low to peek behind himself.

The gate remained.

“Impressive,” Noah muttered, sarcasm thin. No choice left.

Even looking up, down, or walking backward—he’d always end up facing it.

He silently prayed it wasn’t an Elden Beast waiting beyond. With deep reluctance, he stepped forward, parted the mist, and crossed through.

Sacred light descended.

A vast, crystalline celestial expanse unfolded.

One glance—and Noah froze.

No… not objects. *Shadows*.

Sixteen colossal silhouettes floated on either side of the heavenly sea. Towering, wider than mountains. Lower halves vanished into void; only upper forms visible.

Their bodies weren’t flesh or stone—but endless, glittering starfields.

Noah tilted his head up, straining to see their faces.

Too vast. Too sacred. Too high.

All he could make out were their immense outlines.

Strangely, their shapes differed: near-human figures, beast-like forms, some with a single massive crimson flower blooming on their chests.

Eight on each side. Two opposing factions.

Tension crackled between them—air thick with unseen conflict. Even Noah, an outsider, felt a world-shaking battle could erupt any second.

Good news: no health bars.

Bad news: these mysterious, bizarre entities were *more* terrifying without them.

A health bar at least meant they could be killed.

Like a horror-game ghost with a health bar over its head—the scare factor plummets.

Just as Noah stood speechless—

One shadow on the left raised an arm vast as a river and jabbed fiercely across the divide.

Its voice boomed like thunder crashing from the cosmos’ depths:

“I’ll say it again—you… are *NOT* invited to the party!”

Noah: “?”