The moment Lucian’s confession settled into the air, the corridor changed.

It wasn’t just a battleground anymore—it was a pressure chamber, pulsing with rage, grief, and a cold, sharpening focus that tightened around Ares and Atlas like a second skin.

Ares felt his chest cave inward, as if something vital had cracked open. His mother—her soft laugh, her gentle hands, the warmth she had always wrapped him and Atlas in—flashed through his mind in jagged fragments.

Atlas saw the ...