The forest clearing on the scrying orb shifted again.
The broadcast, enchanted to highlight high-profile engagements, zoomed closer. Details sharpened. Mana signatures flared.
Another figure stepped into view, just beyond the broken grove where Lucavion stood.
The girl moved like smoke wrapped in silver—her cloak trailing behind her in measured, dancer-like motions. Twin daggers gleamed at her hips. Mana flickered at her fingertips, wrapping her in layered illusions, so fine they barely disturbed the world around her.
Above the projection, gilded script unfurled in brilliant arcane letters:
Candidate: Elayne Cors
Title: Blade of Nothing
A ripple of noise passed through the salon.
Whispers. Murmurs. Sharp inhalations.
"Elayne Cors... she's here."
"The Blade of Nothing, they call her."
"She defeated three ranked candidates on the first day without so much as a visible spellcast."
"A phantom with blades."
