The core temple district of Vaingall shimmered under the twilight sky, its pathways of polished stone weaving through groves of vibrant flora.
Claturian sigils glowed faintly along the ground, their violet light pulsing like a heartbeat, more decorative than functional as usual.
The air carried the sweet, tart scent of exotic fruits, their vines curling up obsidian pillars, blooming under the divine influence of Kivas, the deity of harvest.
Blanchette sauntered along the path, her silver hair catching the sigil-light as she bit into a shimmering fruit—an orb with violet skin that pulsed faintly, its juice bursting across her tongue with a sharp, invigorating tang.
As soon as she reached the periphery of the hallowed ground, her lips curled into a wide, condescending smile, her fingers twirling the fruit as she approached the sunken basin where Yoiglah rested.
