The city loomed like a carcass flayed open, its spires split and bleeding black fire. The air stank of ash and blood, heavy with whispers that coiled through the Council's ranks like serpents.
Streets stretched before us as rivers of molten shadow, slick and writhing, as if veins pumped straight from the abyss. The stones groaned beneath our steps, breathing in rhythm with the thunderous pulse of Veyrathuun's awakening.
At the gate, crucified zealots lined the archway—dozens of Hollow Order fanatics pinned to jagged steel, bodies burned to husks yet lips still moving. Their jaws cracked and split as they chanted in unison, words spilling like knives into the air:
"Coroneth drael… shael unchain… Velmorr aethern… god reborn…"
Each syllable rattled my bones. I swore I felt their voices crawl beneath my skin, pressing against the vesselhood within me, urging it to open wider, to tear me apart.
