The Red Mother's skeletal hands folded over one another, the crimson veil shifting slightly as she continued her address to the assembled Templars.
Her voice carried the weight of centuries— probably. No one knew how old the damn fossil had been alive for, but there were rumors that she had been alive for over two hundred years.
The cathedral's vast ceiling seemed to absorb her words, the massive painting of the crimson-armored warrior looming over them all like a silent crown.
At the table, two figures leaned close to one another.
Master Wolfield's walking stick tapped softly against the stone floor as he adjusted his position, the heavy glasses on his nose catching the dim candlelight. Commander Strut's weathered face turned toward the small, ancient man, his voice barely a whisper.
"How true are her words?"
Master Wolfield's lips curled into a faint smile, the kind that suggested he found the situation itself amusing,
