The Citadel of Souls was not a building. It was a concept made manifest. A vast, crystalline structure that existed in the space between dimensions, each facet reflecting a different soul, a different story, a different prayer. It hummed with the quiet energy of billions of consciousnesses, all catalogued, all contained, all waiting.
Athena and Metis slipped through the final barrier like shadows through water. The defenses had been formidable—layers of divine intent, wards designed to detect anything that wasn't a soul returning home. But they weren't attacking. They weren't breaching. They were simply... arriving. Two hollow gods, their essences already inside, coming back to where they belonged.
The interior was vast beyond comprehension. Shelves of light stretched in every direction, each one holding countless orbs of softly glowing energy. Souls. Millions upon millions of them, organized by faith, by worth, by the complex algorithms of divine judgment.
