Slowly, almost reluctantly, Altair felt himself pour into Syris's very being. The Vale shuddered, and his heart pulsed, beating a song so old it seemed to echo distant past and present future.
Ba-Dumb! Ba-Dumb! Ba-Dumb!
As if a whirlwind had woven itself through his chambers, ancient tapestries that were once dedicated to Tenebrae were violently ripped from their mounts. The exquisite carpets, which had been carefully woven since the Fall of Angels, were also not spared from the chaos that ensued. The entire room was in a state of disarray, and the aftermath of the tumultuous event left a lasting impression on all who witnessed it.
Altair noticed none of it. His gaze pressed against Syris as he felt a powerful surge emanating from the Vale. The Black Lake, which was suspended within his Astral Sea, began to ripple as wispy tendrils of essence flowed out of its depths and into the material realm, enveloping Syris in an obsidian veil.
