POV Orion
Orion held in his hands objects representing years of meticulous planning and sacrifices that would have made men with less determination step back.
11 strange crystals rested on his desk, 4 of them floated on top of his palms, each pulsing with energy that slightly distorted the air around their surfaces.
Two were dark purple, absorbing light rather than reflecting it, pulling it inward like small mouths feeding on illumination. Even in a well-lit room they appeared as dark voids, surfaces refusing to acknowledge the existence of brightness.
One was completely black…
It emanated a sensation of void, uncomfortable to hold for extended periods. The kind of discomfort that started in the fingers and crept up the wrist like cold water. But this one the one Orion liked the most.
And the last was white…
It glowed with soft but persistent luminescence, quiet and constant in a way that reminded Orion of the moon on cloudless nights.
