The black lotus disc under Kaelen’s palm hummed like a hive of subterranean hornets.
A low vibration traveled through the white star-jade plaza of Moon Eight. It did not shake the stones with violence. Instead, it sank into the foundation, quiet and deep, like water finding a dry well.
Ten paces ahead, Sera Thorne remained down on one knee.
Blood dripped from her split knuckles, sizzling as it struck the glowing flagstones. The central spine of Storm-Pike was split down the middle, held together only by the stubborn grip of her calloused hands.
Beside her, Mina Vance dropped into a low crouch.
Frost-rime coated Mina’s pale sleeves as she wove twenty defensive sigils from freezing mist. Her breath came in shallow, ragged puffs. The shattered remnants of her frost-chains still drifted across the air like powdered glass.
Claire Vance stood on Sera’s other flank, her hands flashing through five mudras.
She slapped three brass formation-plates against the flagstones. Rings of pale azure light rose around Kaelen’s stool, interlocking to form a triple-layered turtle shell.
