The wind howled through the broken arches of the forgotten cathedral.
Its once-sacred interior lay in decay—rows of shattered pews, vines creeping through the stone floor, and a collapsed ceiling that let moonlight pour in like a silent witness. The air smelled of mold and burnt incense, and the silence held weight, like something watching from beyond the veil.
In the center, shadows moved.
Figures sat scattered across what once had been rows of worshipers. All wore black robes, faces hidden beneath deep hoods. A crimson sigil, faintly glowing, was etched across each of their masks—different shapes, yet all sharing the same mark: the Eye of the Void.
From the balcony above, a smaller figure leaned casually against the stone railing. A massive scythe rested on her shoulder, its blade glinting in the pale light.
"So?" she called out, voice young but cutting. "The signal was clear. Are the others late again? I don't like wasting time."
