The mansion loomed before Nyxavere like a monument to abandoned ambition, its Gothic spires piercing the sky like accusing fingers. The very air here tasted of righteous fury and misguided heroism—champions had definitely been here, their essence still clinging to the stonework like residual perfume.
But they were gone now. Every last one of them.
She materialized in the courtyard with a sound like reality tearing at the seams. Space itself groaned under the weight of her arrival, the fundamental forces of existence bending to accommodate a being who existed beyond normal dimensional boundaries. Ancient cobblestones cracked beneath her feet as raw power bled from her form like heat from a forge.
'That icy signature. Aunt Chione's unmistakable presence lingered here like frost on winter glass.' This is what she'd felt.
"So, this is where you've been hiding," Nyxavere murmured, her voice carrying undertones that made the mansion's windows tremble in their frames.
