The director's office had lost its characteristic aura of formal dignity.
In the center, Director Ignatius remained seated. His face, normally serene and authoritative, showed the weariness of someone who had looked death directly in the eyes.
His phoenix was partially manifested, both from defensive instinct and the need to accelerate his own healing.
But it was the absence of healing that proved most shocking. Where his left leg should have been, only an empty space remained beneath the carefully folded fabric of his trousers.
The legendary regeneration of his specific beast would allow him to recover the limb eventually, but the attackers had ensured its destruction to an excessive degree, beyond what even a phoenix could quickly repair.
