They turned together.
The host of script-warriors had not risen. Still bowed, still silent, yet the pulse of their runes had shifted. Lines of black-gold light crawled across the stair, shaping barriers—not walls of attack, but of boundary.
One path, one flame.
Leon's team could fight here, could hold here, could bleed for him—but the abyss would only let him descend.
Roselia's grip tightened on her sword, emberlight quivering against the barrier. "So that's it? It cuts us out, writes us aside?"
Naval pressed his trident to the boundary, listening to the hum. His jaw set. "Not aside. Guarded. The Tower chose the descent to be walked alone. But it left us here for a reason."
Liliana's threads whispered across the edge, sparking harmlessly against the script. She shook her head, tears threatening but never falling. "If we force it, we'll break more than the stair. We'll break him."
