The blood moon still dominated the sky above Floor Twenty-Five, its crimson light washing across the castle's exterior, making the stone appear to bleed.
The ritual in the garden had concluded hours ago, but the celestial phenomenon would persist until dawn arrived in whatever form it took within Tartarus Spire's twisted reality.
Jack sat on his throne of dark metal, his hands resting on the armrests as he relaxed.
His white hair caught the red moonlight filtering through the throne room's high windows, and his yellow-orange eyes tracked the chamber's occupants with awareness that missed nothing.
Loryn stood to his right, the ancient mage's skeletal frame wrapped in dark robes. His purple eyes glowed faintly as he maintained his standard position of readiness, prepared to execute whatever command Jack might issue.
