Seris prowled the shadowed war chambers of Crimson Strategy Hall, her Second Calamity aura wrapping the vast room like a cloak of impending doom. The hall was a labyrinth of floating holographic displays—galaxies projected in shimmering crimson light, stars winking out as simulated battles unfolded in real-time.
The air hummed with the low buzz of mana crystals powering the illusions, the scent of ancient incense mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood from her practice cuts.
Dual daggers spun in her hands with lethal grace, ash-blood trails lingering in the air like ghostly afterimages, weaving through the holograms to "strike" key enemy positions.
Her master, an ancient tactician named Eldrin Voss—a Ninth Calamity elder with eyes like polished obsidian and robes embroidered with faded battle maps—watched from a elevated throne of woven shadow-threads.
He didn't speak immediately, letting her experiment.
