Vergil's smile slowly faded, as if it had never been there.
The hexagonal room remained motionless, the silent monolith before him, the enigma gleaming in ancient silver. "That which moves without leaving its place, guides without pointing, and exists even when there is no ground?"
He knew the answer.
He probably would in a few minutes.
But that wasn't what bothered him.
What bothered him was the fact that, until that moment, he had been allowing himself to play by someone else's rules.
He had tested.
Analyzed.
Observed.
Purposefully chosen dead ends.
Admired Scáthach's runic engineering.
But, in the end, he was still walking in circles within a structure that insisted on bending space to keep him contained.
Vergil closed his eyes for a moment.
He took a deep breath.
When he opened them again, there was no trace of amusement left. "Enough."
The word came out low, firm.
