"My Grace," Duke Ephesians ventured, his voice steadier than his pulse, "the Spire has reached out to us to collaborate. Their instruments detect a new energy signature emanating from the depths of the Deadlands."
The golden haze surrounding the Empress shifted, tendrils of light coiling like living things. Though her features remained partially obscured by the divine radiance, he sensed her displeasure—a pressure in the air, a weight against his skin.
"Don't test my patience, Duke Lorvantis." Her words fell like polished stones, each one precisely placed. "I read the report they sent."
She adjusted her position on the throne, one leg crossing elegantly over the other. A single finger tapped against the golden arm of her seat, each contact producing a sound that reverberated through the chamber with unnatural clarity. The rhythm carried a menacing chill that belied the heat of her presence.
