After the last embers of the Poison Sect guttered out, Igaris wasted no time.
He stood on the shattered plateau that once served as the Sect's heart. All around him, the Imperial Army carried out his commands—clearing toxins, collecting cores, securing captives—but he no longer paid them any mind.
His attention turned inward.
He raised one hand, fingers tracing a circle in the air.
Space-Time Domain.
The world rippled.
A shimmering membrane enveloped him, folding reality itself into a sealed cocoon of stillness. Outside, time crawled at a snail's pace. Inside, he stood alone beneath an endless sky of swirling galaxies and drifting constellations.
This was the sanctum where he would take the final step.
Saint.
In this place, all distractions fell away. Only the endless currents of energy mattered.
