Altair hadn't been certain how long he'd watch the ensuing chaos spread across his eyes—long enough that when he caught himself, the Mana of Heaven and Earth had coalesced, reaching out from the Ethereal Realm into the physical. Seismic tremors came and went, growing more frequent, splintering the asphalt into intricate webs as buildings tumbled. Those who saw to photograph the chaos rather than flee died, their screams reaching up towards his vantage on the thirtieth floor.
"What have you done?" A cold and sweet voice cut across the rim of his ear. Altair turned an eye to the female, unbothered by her beauty. He glanced at the stranger behind her, then offered her a seat that could fit only one more beside Atelia.
The man, standing tall like a sentinel, frowned, his silence dark with unspoken tension.
"Lady Morrigan," he said. "Please."
