The woman with obsidian eyes tapped two fingers against the table.
A ripple spread through the air, and the room dissolved. The table, the chairs, even the walls of the Spire faded until Leon was standing on an endless stretch of white stone beneath a blank, gray sky.
The Sovereigns now stood in a wide circle around him, spaced far apart. None moved closer.
"This is not a duel," the glass-bodied one said. "This is a measure."
Leon didn't reply.
A hum started—low at first, then deep enough to vibrate through the soles of his boots. Cracks spread across the white stone, and from them, shapes began to rise. Not creatures, not exactly—constructs of raw energy, each humanoid but featureless, their bodies flickering between solid and transparent.
Twelve of them, one for each Sovereign present.
"They move as we will them," the woman in shadow said. "Each of us will push against you. Not to destroy you, but to see if you bend—or break."
