Inside the empty room, dimly lit by the soft, pulsating glow of the essentia crystals arranged in a precise circular formation on the ground, a solemn air hung thick like a shroud. In that room stood Zephyrion, Nihara, old man Obsidar, Nyxander, and Umbrazel, their faces painted with resolve, the weight of their mission bearing down on their shoulders.
"Let us begin," Obsidar intoned, his voice low but with resonant, deep rumbles that almost echoed like a bell struck in the heart of a cavern. The words seemed to ripple across the space, stirring the silent tension.
