The room didn't feel like a council chamber.
It felt like something had just survived a natural disaster.
A heavy table lay overturned near the far wall, one of its legs snapped clean off. Chairs were scattered everywhere, some embedded into stone, others reduced to splinters. Residual Essence crackled faintly in the air, sharp and agitated, refusing to settle.
Ryn Goldwing stood at the center of it all, wings flared wide, chest heaving.
"What the hell was that?" he roared.
A fresh burst of Essence tore outward from his body, slamming into what remained of the furniture and sending fragments skidding across the chamber. A crystal lamp shattered against the wall, spraying light that fizzled out midair.
"I lost," he continued, voice raw with fury and disbelief. "I accepted that. But that—" he gestured violently toward the ceiling, as if the sky itself were still pressing down on him, "—that was not normal. Why didn't we attack him? Why did everyone just stand there?"
