Nyx's newly formed body trembled in the center of the magic circle, still covered in dark smoke that slowly evaporated from her skin. The golden veins had already faded, and in their place, a living structure pulsed with each breath. With effort, she rose to her knees, panting.
The cold floor of the mansion felt even colder under her bare feet, but she refused to show weakness. Gritting her teeth, she snapped her fingers and, with a subtle movement, began to shape her own appearance. Her skin lightened to a pale gray, almost translucent, as if made of lunar porcelain. Short, gray hair appeared in thick, slightly tousled strands—as if it were living ash. Her eyes became pools of pure black, deep and unfathomable.
