The rooftop of the Hollow Sanctum was silent.
Silent in a way that felt wrong as if the wind itself chose not to breathe.
Lucere stood at the edge, hair drifting like majestic thing in the moonlight, coat snapping against the cold. His eyes serene, bored, deadly stared toward the distant north.
The direction of Kaom.
The direction of the next shard.
The direction of the world-ending future only he could carve.
One by one… shadows materialized behind him.
The Hollow Nine.
His "family."
His "weapons."
His "sins."
Lucere did not turn.
He didn't need to.
He could feel each one by the pressure of their existence.
K , The Tactician
Footsteps. Light. Controlled.
The orange-haired tactician adjusted his glasses, eyes sharp as winter knives.
"Lord Lucere," K murmured, bowing low. "We have confirmed the emotional tremor. The seal has weakened by 0.04%. Kaom is stirring."
Lucere closed his eyes, amused.
