They were training when it happened.
Each of them had been in their own space, submerged in their rhythm. Aurevia was in the frost chamber—barefoot upon the glazed floor, exhaling with precise breaths as thin veils of mist curled from her limbs. Her blade traced arcs of pure discipline.
Cellione danced with flame in her sealed training dome, her magic rising like molten silk, searing the air around her palms. Serineth, deep in her shadow chamber, stood in eerie stillness, eyes half-lidded, coaxing ripples of darkness into shape with only her breath.
And Virellen, knuckles bloodied with joy, was pounding earthbound targets in her own gauntlet-scarred space.
Then everything warped.
A moment of stillness, sudden and unnatural, tore the fabric of their connection to the Divine Castle. The divine ambient light flickered—and in the next breath, a white, silken ripple devoured their surroundings. Space folded with no warning.
With a disorienting twist, they were cast outward.
