The video began to play.
They were already standing there.
Seven of them. Spread across a raised platform, each spaced just far enough apart to carry presence. Different heights, builds, stances—but all still. No shifting. No nerves. Just eyes on the camera, like they could see through it.
Elias's gaze locked on the woman in the center. Tall. Towering, almost. Blue hair draped clean down her back like silk cut from ice. He didn't know her name, but something about the way she held her shoulders—it wasn't new. Not a soldier. Something older. Maybe military once. Maybe something worse.
Behind her, her Ikona floated silently. Wide-bodied. No legs. Long arms that hung lower than they should. Its fingers didn't stop moving.
She raised her arm slowly. Held something.
A head.
It dripped from the base. Short dark hair. Familiar jawline. Dragnovik.
Kikaru's breath caught. Paul stepped forward, but didn't say a word.
The woman dropped the head without a word.
