The Obsidian Spire pulsed with tension, Seraphiel's arrival a spark that threatened to burn through the Demon Realm's fragile peace. By midday, the clans were in chaos. Ironfang warriors sharpened their claws in the outer courtyards, their chants of defiance echoing off stone arches, a bold stand against the angel's presence.
Emberclaw artisans whispered in their forges, worried that divine eyes would halt their trade with Calonia. Bloodthorn priests filled their crimson temples with fervent prayers, Morgath's influence growing despite her confinement, her warnings of divine wrath stirring their hearts.
The Shadowveil alone stayed quiet, their spies slipping through the turmoil, feeding every rumor to Sylvara's sharp ears.
Atherion and Camelia met in the Spire's war room, a cold space lined with maps and racks of dark steel. Camelia's message to Calonia had been sent, but the realms' distance meant no answer would come soon.
