Vella closed her eyes beneath the arches of the lower pavilion, sending her consciousness deep into the spiritual network.
The royal choir drew its singing conduits inward, twisting the city's medical pathways into a parasitic feedback loop.
Every hospital bed, surgical ward, and triage station in the capital remained entangled with the court's regenerative web.
Whenever an avatar took damage along the front lines, the choir leached vitality from civilian patients to knit the porcelain hulls.
"The choir has folded its branches directly beneath the throne," Vella reported, her physical body trembling upon the flagstones.
"I can reach the central core, but keeping the hospital patients alive requires holding two ranges at once," she added.
Hajin knelt beside her, resting his calloused palm against the center of her collarbone to stabilize their shared resonance.
