The chamber pulsed with residual magic — stale incense, dark glyphs flickering across the stone walls, and a low hum that reverberated beneath Noah's boots. He stood near the edge of the ritual circle, holding up a peculiar pair of round-lensed glasses.
They gleamed faintly in the low light, the artifact's enchantments waiting to be activated.
Across from him, Saphielle hovered just above the cracked floor, her boots nearly silent against the stone. Draped in layered black garments, her silhouette looked like it had stepped straight from a funeral procession. Her jet-black hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing a pale face and eyes like polished obsidian — void of light, yet keenly observant.
Noah tilted his head and offered the glasses with a faint grin. His own black hair was tousled and wild, the crimson glow in his eyes catching the flicker of torchlight like coals beneath the ash.
