The Obsidian Spire thrummed with unease as Seraphiel's arrival rippled through the Demon Realm, igniting tensions Atherion had long sought to quell. By midday, the clans were in uproar.
Ironfang warriors honed their claws in the outer courtyards, their defiant chants reverberating through the stone arches, a call to arms against celestial intrusion. Emberclaw artisans huddled in their forges, whispering fears that divine scrutiny would choke their flourishing trade with Calonia.
Bloodthorn priests, their crimson temples aglow, led fervent prayers, Morgath's influence swelling despite her confinement, her visions of divine wrath fueling their zeal. Only the Shadowveil moved in silence, their spies threading through the chaos, funneling every murmur to Sylvara's keen ears.
