"The gods do not descend for mortals. They certainly do not descend to perform cosmetic miracles on a woman who sits at the absolute center of the oldest, most terrifying prophecy in the eastern realms." Sylas said, leaning forward and resting his forearms against his knees.
"The Evernight," Priscilla said, her voice dropping into a low, measured register.
"Exactly." Sylas tapped the parchment with a single, pale knuckle, the sound dry and sharp in the quiet chamber. "Ishara lived by the belief that Aurelia was the catalyst through which the Evernight would manifest. Whether the witch misread the stars or misjudged the bloodline is entirely beside the point. Every high priestess who has ever held a obsidian blade knows the terror that woman represents."
He paused, tilting his head as he studied the intricate patterns of the rug below. "So ask yourself something. If Vireon truly breached the veil to cleanse Aurelia, why would he choose this precise hour?"
