The projection flickered on the grand wall of the Cathedral Square in Ashenveil, massive and luminous in the evening gloom. The cinema apparatus—a towering contraption of brass lenses and aetheric lamps mounted on a reinforced carriage—hummed steadily, projecting the image for an audience of over ten thousand people.
Cardinal Vane stood on the cathedral balcony, his ancient hands resting heavily on the stone balustrade. He was ninety-two years old, his body frail and brittle, kept alive by a combination of high-tier life runes and sheer, stubborn willpower. Below him, the massive crowd watched the projection in absolute silence.
