The orb remained inert for several moments, appearing no different than a simple piece of glass. Then, Braydon let out a sudden groan of pain, his free hand flying to his temple.
Gradually, a swirling mist began to fill the glass, coiling and thickening within. Flashes of purple lightning danced inside the verdant green fog, like storm clouds threatening to unleash devastation upon any who dared approach.
But it wasn't over yet.
A sharp crackle of thunder echoed through the hall, followed by the sudden manifestation of three glowing orange rings. They shimmered brilliantly as they orbited around the sphere.
"Enough," the tall man said, raising a hand.
Braydon was flung backward from the pedestal, stumbling as he caught himself. He turned toward the desk, confusion etched on his face—as if waiting for an explanation or further instructions.
"Next," the man said with a brisk wave of his hand, gesturing to move things along.
