The gateway spit us out into red light.
Not the red of the Crimson Sorrow—that had been the red of dying divinity, of grief made atmosphere. This was different. Familiar and wrong at the same time. The red of Sanctus Mortis. The eternal crimson twilight we'd left behind when we entered the Tier 4 Mirror World.
Except we hadn't left it behind days ago.
We'd left it behind two centuries ago.
I realized it the moment my boots touched stone. Not the broken platform we'd departed from. Smooth, polished stone. Paved stone. The kind you find in cities, not in death game waypoints.
"What the hell?" Gery's voice was tight. Confused.
I looked up.
The platform was still there—or what remained of it. But it had been... integrated. Built around. Enclosed. We stood in the center of what looked like a massive plaza, easily a quarter-mile across. The gateway behind us pulsed with dying light, set into an archway of carved stone that rose forty feet into the red sky.
And around that archway, spreading in every direction, was a city.
Not ruins. Not a survivor camp. An actual city.
Buildings rose in layered tiers, constructed from dark stone and reinforced metal. Some were simple—functional blocks for housing. Others were elaborate, with spires and bridges connecting upper levels. Streets branched off the plaza in organized grids. I could see people moving between structures. Hundreds of them. Thousands.
"Somi," I said quietly. "Analysis."
Her Strategic Omniscience flared immediately. The tactical mask's eyes glowed with layered light as she processed more information than human consciousness should handle.
"Architectural development consistent with sustained settlement over... estimating minimum one hundred fifty years. Possibly longer. Population density: extremely high. Conservative estimate: fifty thousand individuals within visible range. Technology level: pre-industrial but organized. Social structure: established. This is not a temporary settlement. This is a civilization."
Lucy's hand found mine. Squeezed. "Sidd. How long were we gone?"
I activated my Essence Detection. Swept it across the plaza. The city. The thousands of essence signatures painting a picture in my mind.
Most were weak. Tier 7. Tier 6. Barely corrupted. New to the Anchor Point System or deliberately avoiding higher bindings.
Some were moderate. Tier 5. Tier 4. Experienced survivors who'd pushed themselves but stopped before the point of no return.
A handful were strong. Tier 3. Maybe two or three in the entire city. Powerful beings who'd climbed high and paid the price.
And then there was us.
Four signatures that burned like miniature suns compared to everyone else. Lucy, Gery, and Somi at Tier 4, enhanced by Reliquary bindings. And me—
I was something else. Tier 3 with fragments of Tier 2 divinity. The wings on my back pulsed with essence that made nearby survivors unconsciously take a step back.
"Time moves differently in Mirror Worlds," I said slowly. "We knew that. The Flesh Cradle was six hours inside, three days outside. The Crimson Sorrow felt like maybe a week inside. Outside it was..."
I trailed off. Looked at the city. The organized streets. The established architecture.
"Decades," Somi finished. Her multiple voices were flat. Emotionless. But I heard the shock underneath. "Minimum. Possibly centuries based on development patterns."
"Two centuries," a voice said behind us.
We spun. Hands moving toward weapons. My wings spread instinctively, white light flaring.
An old man stood there. Not corrupted-old. Actually old. Weathered skin. Grey hair. Eyes that had seen too much and remembered all of it. He wore robes of dark crimson, marked with symbols I didn't recognize. Official. Governmental.
"Easy," he said, raising his hands. "I'm no threat. I'm Keeper Aldric. I maintain the Gateway Registry. Record all arrivals and departures." His eyes studied us—lingered on my wings, on the corruption marks visible on all our skin. "You four match descriptions from the Archive. The party that entered the Flesh Cradle and never returned. That was two hundred and three years ago. By the Bikram Sambat calendar, it's currently 203 BS. The year of the gateway opening is marked as Year 0."
Silence. Heavy. Impossible.
"That's not..." Lucy started. Stopped. Her lightning crackled involuntarily. "We were only gone for a few weeks. Maybe a month. Not two hundred years."
Aldric's expression was sympathetic. Sad. "Time dilation in Tier 4 and higher Mirror Worlds is extreme. You're not the first to return after subjective days and find centuries have passed. You won't be the last."
He gestured at the city around us.
"Welcome to New Sanctus. The First City. Built on the ruins of what you remember as the staging ground. Population: eight hundred thousand within city limits. Approximately three million in the surrounding territories."
"Three million?" Gery's voice was hollow.
"Eight billion people were pulled from Earth into Sanctus Mortis over the past two centuries," Aldric explained. "Not all at once. In waves. The death game doesn't discriminate. Everyone eventually arrives. Most stay at the lower tiers—Tier 7, Tier 6. Enough power to survive but not enough to lose themselves. We've built a society around that. Kingdoms. Guilds. Governments. A functional world, albeit a crimson one."
I looked at the red sky. The eternal twilight. "The sun never came back."
"No. This world doesn't have days or nights. Just... this." He gestured at the ambient crimson light. "We created calendars anyway. Marked time by other means. Gateway activity. Seasonal essence fluctuations. The crimson light changes shade slightly—darkens and lightens in cycles we call 'days.' It's not much, but humans need structure."
Somi's tactical analysis continued running. "Infrastructure assessment: this city has water systems, waste management, food distribution networks despite no biological hunger requirement. Social organization: hierarchical. Power structure: likely based on Awakened rank and combat capability. Economic system: functional despite no survival necessities. Conclusion: humans will create civilization even in death game conditions."
Aldric nodded. "You're correct. We don't need food, but we have restaurants because eating is human. We don't need sleep, but we have inns because rest is psychologically necessary. We don't need currency, but we have one because trade gives life meaning."
He looked at me specifically. At the six white wings folded against my back.
"You're something special, aren't you? Those wings. That essence signature. I've been maintaining this registry for eighty years and I've never seen anything like you."
"I killed a Tier 3 entity," I said simply. "Inherited fragments of its divinity."
His eyes widened. "A Tier 3... you actually defeated a Mirror World boss above Tier 4? Alone?"
"With my party."
"Even so." Aldric's expression shifted. Respect. Wariness. Fear. "That makes you one of maybe ten people in all of Sanctus Mortis who've accomplished such a feat. You're not just Awakened. You're..."
He trailed off. Searching for words.
"A monster," I finished. "I know."
"I was going to say 'legend,' but I suppose that works too."
Movement in the plaza. People were noticing us. Pointing. Whispering. A crowd was forming at a respectful distance. Dozens. Hundreds. All staring at the four strangers who'd appeared from an inactive gateway.
Staring at my wings especially.
"You'll want to register with the Awakened Guild," Aldric said. "It's mandatory for anyone Tier 5 or below. They handle assignments, contracts, territory disputes. Think of them as the military and government combined." He paused. "Though with your power level, you might end up dealing with the High Council directly. They govern New Sanctus and the surrounding kingdoms."
"Kingdoms?" Lucy asked. "Multiple?"
"Seven major ones. New Sanctus is neutral territory—no kingdom claims it. But outside the city? The Crimson Throne controls the eastern territories. The Ashen Crown holds the west. The Twilight Court rules the southern wastes. And four others carve up the rest. They're not always peaceful with each other, but they maintain order."
Gery laughed. It was a hollow sound. "We left a death game staging ground and came back to feudal politics."
"Humans adapt," Aldric said simply. "Even in hell."
A new voice cut through the crowd. Young. Female. Authoritative.
"Aldric, step aside. I'll handle the new arrivals."
The crowd parted. A woman approached—maybe mid-twenties in appearance, though age was meaningless for Awakened. She wore armor of dark metal inscribed with glowing red patterns. Her corruption was visible but controlled—maybe forty percent. Tier 5, I estimated. Strong but not transcendent.
Her eyes were sharp. Calculating. The eyes of someone used to command.
"I'm Commander Sera. Awakened Guild, Enforcement Division. You four need to come with me for processing. Standard procedure for all high-tier arrivals."
"We're not criminals," Lucy said carefully.
"Never said you were. But you're powerful. Tier 4 minimum. Him—" she nodded at me "—might be Tier 3 or close to it. That makes you potentially dangerous. So we process you. Verify your intentions. Assign clearance levels. Make sure you understand the rules."
Her hand rested casually on the sword at her hip. Not threatening. Just ready.
"It's voluntary, of course. You can refuse. But then you'll be barred from entering New Sanctus or any affiliated territory. You'll be marked as rogues. Hunted if you cause trouble."
I met her gaze. Saw the steel underneath. She wasn't bluffing.
"We'll comply," I said. "We're not here to cause problems. We're just... trying to understand what happened to the world while we were gone."
Sera's expression softened slightly. "Two hundred years is a long absence. The world changed. But it's still the same death game underneath the civilization. People still die in Mirror Worlds. We still fight to survive. We just do it with laws and governance now."
She turned. Gestured for us to follow.
"Come. I'll give you the full briefing on the way to Guild Headquarters. You'll want to hear about the Divine Essence, the transportation system, the new Anchor Point regulations, and—" she glanced at my wings again "—probably the Celestial Division. They handle beings with divine attributes."
We followed her through the crowd. People pressed back, giving us space. Staring. Whispering. I caught fragments of conversation:
"—wings like the stories—"
"—Tier 3 at least—"
"—came from an old gateway—"
"—two centuries, imagine—"
The city stretched before us. Streets lined with buildings. Markets where people traded essence-crafted goods. Training grounds where Awakened sparred. A massive structure in the distance that might have been a palace or government building.
And everywhere, yetis.
Massive creatures—ten feet tall, covered in white fur, gentle eyes despite their size. They walked the streets carrying passengers on their backs or pulling carts loaded with supplies. Domesticated. Trained. Transportation in a world without vehicles.
"Those are yetis," Sera explained, following my gaze. "Tier 7 creatures. Non-hostile if raised from birth. We use them for everything—transport, labor, companionship. Some families have kept the same yeti for generations."
"Generations," I repeated. "People have children here."
"Of course. Life continues. Corruption doesn't prevent reproduction, just... complicates it. Children born in Sanctus Mortis start at zero corruption. They grow up in this world. Never knew Earth. This crimson sky is all they've ever seen."
We passed a group of children playing in a courtyard. Laughing. Chasing each other. Completely normal except for the red light and the faint essence signatures marking them as technically "Awakened" from birth.
"Two hundred years," Lucy whispered beside me. "Everyone we knew. Everyone from our original group. They're either dead or..."
"Changed," I finished. "Aged. Moved on. Built new lives."
If any of them were even still alive. Two centuries was a long time. Even Awakened could die—killed in Mirror Worlds, executed for crimes, lost to corruption.
We might be the last survivors of our original entry group.
Commander Sera led us toward the massive structure in the city's center. As we walked, the weight of two centuries settled over me like divine judgment.
The world had moved on without us.
And we'd returned as relics of a forgotten age.
Monsters from the past, carrying power from a dead god, trying to find our place in a civilization built on the bones of the death game we thought we understood.
My wings pulsed with white light.
And I wondered: in a world that had spent two hundred years adapting to hell, what place was there for a being like me?
A monster with angel wings.
The Found Nothing, lost in a world that had learned to be found.