The fractured halo behind Noctis shimmered, casting jagged purple light across the black stone of the throne room. When he spoke again, his voice seemed to press the very walls inward.
"Vessels of the Death Gods… and the ones who command them," he began, "your games, your killings, and your alliances, all of them are threads in a far greater design. A design most of you will never see."
The oppressive stillness deepened. Even the ever-present hum of soul energy seemed to fade, as though the Mansion itself was holding its breath.
"I did not summon you here to speak of who is winning or losing," Noctis continued. "The tournament will decide that soon enough. I summoned you because we are… altering the conditions."
Anna Mary's eyes narrowed. "What kind of alterations?"
