The celebration within the stronghold had only just begun when the air shifted.
Not the wind.
The very fabric of presence.
A hum resonated across the glass walls and vaulted ceilings — a low, ancient chord that struck deep in the soul, vibrating at frequencies older than language.
Then came the first ripple.
A swirl of green and blue light folded into itself in the center of the hall, above the crowd, and from that rift emerged a being draped in void.
No face. No flesh. No sound.
Only a dark cloak, rippling as if in water, adorned with glowing green lines that spiraled in celestial patterns — arcane runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Behind the being floated three concentric rings, turning slowly, emitting a faint resonance like echoing chants in forgotten cathedrals.
A weight descended on the room — not oppressive, but humbling. Like standing before a cosmic elder.
Elyon, the Witness.
Louis's first Soul Familiar.
