Michael stood in the dressing room of the Super Association, silent.
The walls were white.
The full-body mirror before him reflected a tall young man with long, ink-black hair that cascaded past his shoulders, green eyes as sharp as blades, and a calm expression that concealed the thoughts brewing underneath.
He let his fingers brush over the collar of the Warding Mantle, feeling the smooth silver threads stitched into the black fabric.
The cloak didn't feel heavy.
He turned a little, watching the cloak shift with him.
"Not bad," he muttered.
Then he looked at the Dreamsteel Ring on his right hand—black with silver veins running along its band, pulsing faintly with blue light.
He could feel it working already.
It didn't make his mind sharper—not exactly.
But there was a clarity to his thoughts now, a steadiness that hadn't been there before.
Like his mind had gone from walking a dirt path to gliding across glass.
His fingers moved next to his neck.
