For the first time, one of those creatures with moving sigils on its face moved, and Lucrezia darted her gaze towards them.
The woman was different from the rest, set apart by an undeniable apathy that clung to her like a second skin. Her shoulder-length hair framed sharp, deliberate features, while her hollow eyes seemed fixed on something far beyond the present.
She wore an armor-like garment fashioned from thick, overlapping scales, resembling the bark of ancient trees. It covered her chest with rigid precision, following the contours of her body even as she remained seated and still. Beneath its open lining, her pale skin was exposed, etched with living sigils that shifted and crawled. They were darker, more aggressive, and far more unsettling than those borne by the others; marks that suggested not only power, but something deeply unspoken.
