The sound of the Auctioneer's gavel did not result in an explosion of light or a
collapse of the earth. Instead, it produced a sound so profound it felt as
though the very concept of "silence" had been shattered and replaced by
something far more dense. It was the sound of a closing door—a finality that
vibrated through my gold-veined bones and caused the Sanguine resonance in my
blood to go terrifyingly still.
The field of brown dirt, the ruins of the Obsidian Peak, and the clear blue sky
of the "Real" world vanished in a single, frame-less transition.
I was no longer standing. I was suspended.
I blinked, my gold and sapphire eyes struggling to adjust to a light that wasn't
produced by a sun. The air was cool, smelling of old parchment, expensive
incense, and the sharp, metallic tang of cold currency. I looked down at my
feet. I wasn't standing on soil; I was standing on a floor of polished black
glass that stretched out into an infinite, hazy distance.
