Atlantis was falling through spaces between spaces, carrying its people with it. Through the windows, they could see other realms flashing past like images in a broken mirror—Olympus with its marble columns and golden light, Asgard's impossible spires floating in defiance of gravity, the Celestial Court's jade towers wreathed in clouds, the demon realm's sulfurous wastes stretching to burning horizons.
All of them were moving, converging, being drawn together by some cosmic force that made reality itself sing with tension.
Maven's great wings spread instinctively, ancient dragon reflexes kicking in. "We're not falling," he realised. "We're being moved. Positioned."
The motion lasted for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. When it finally stopped, the silence that followed was deafening. Then, slowly, sounds began to filter in from outside—not the familiar sounds of Atlantis, but something new. Something impossible.
