The side hall of the Heartwood, a chamber typically reserved for the internal debates of the Council, had suddenly transformed into a theater of the divine. The air was thick, not just with the scent of Zephyra's silver spirit-smoke, but with the suffocating weight of a dozen high-tier phantoms pacing restlessly behind their masters.
The debate about the Zharun tribe had been momentarily shelved, but the tension remained, redirected entirely toward the "One" standing in the center of the obsidian-wood floor.
In the center of the tiered stone floor, Sol obviosuly felt the eyes of the Veynar leadership drilling into him. There was Thorne's bone deep, vulture-like scrutiny, Korash's simmering envy, and the Warchief's stormy, unreadable gaze. Even the bubbly Lumi had retreated into the shadows of the pillars, her hands clasped tight in a silent prayer for the "Divine One."
