The incorporeal phantoms, reflections of Zarach given form through the web of fate, numbered close to a dozen, and a single glance was enough to confirm their purpose.
They were echoes of possible futures, each one representing a different outcome for Zarach.
Some raised their hands in defense against unseen attacks, while others struck forward, weaving offense from invisible threads, all of them incomplete truths, waiting to be written into reality.
Zarach, a master of fate, saw what each possibility offered and, within mere instants, chose the one most favorable to him. One by one, the phantoms dissolved into nothing, their unreal forms unraveling back into the tapestry of fate.
The Moth Empress followed closely behind her master. Her hands clasped together, palms aligned, before she drew them apart, and between them, a dense column of incorporeal essence took shape, swiftly molding into a bow.
