The blinding, holy light of the gateway didn’t just illuminate the expanse; it seemed to scrub the very color from their skin, leaving Leon and Putri feeling like sketches waiting to be filled in. Ahead of them, the path was blocked by twelve statues of white marble, each depicting a different facet of the human condition grief, lust, pride, despair, each one more hyper realistic than the last. They stood on a circular dais, their stone eyes tracking the duo’s every move."So," Leon said, his voice echoing in the vast, hollow space. "I’m guessing we aren’t just supposed to knock on the door and ask for a cup of sugar.""Knock? Darling, look at their feet. They’re standing in pools of their own hardening sludge," Putri whispered, her grip tightening on her staff. "They aren't statues. They’re guardians. Probably the kind that likes to collect heads as hobby."As if on cue, the stone guardians groaned a sound like grinding tectonic plates. Fine cracks spiderwebbed across their chests, a

The marble garden, or what remained of it, groaned under the weight of Eros’s presence. The boy vessel stood there, his jaw unhinging to reveal the shimmering, liquid void of a god, while Leon and Putri stood on the threshold of a reality that refused to stay put. "You really are a persistent little gnat, aren't you?" Eros said, his voice overlapping with the boy’s cracking prepubescent squeak. "Honestly, the sheer audacity of an Architect trying to negotiate with a god who already owns the floor you're standing on. It’s almost adorable, in a pathetic, short lived sort of way." "I’m not negotiating," Leon said, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension in his neck. He felt the golden fire in his eyes pulsing in time with the swaying crystal trees. "I’m terminating your contract. Effective immediately. I suggest you pack your bags, find a nice quiet dimension, and retire, Eros. You’re looking a bit tired,

The alley’s gloom bled into the nascent dawn, but for Leon, the light was a cruel mockery. He crumpled to the ground, Putri cradled gently in his arms, her head resting against his chest. Her breathing was shallow, a faint, fragile whisper against the roaring silence within him. His own hands, the ones that had just ripped the envy from her, were rapidly turning translucent, flickering like a dying holographic display. The violet obsidian, the condensed essence of cosmic jealousy, flowed through his veins, turning his flesh to smoked glass. “I’m coming back,” he had whispered to her unconscious form, a promise that felt impossibly heavy in his now-ethereal throat. “Because I have a date. And the reviews for this place are going to be scathing.” Putri stirred then, a soft moan escaping her lips, her body shivering against him. The residual violet haze had faded from her features, leaving her looking utterly