The joy in the room vanished, sucked into the swirling, malevolent darkness in the skull's eyes on the living map. A mont ago, we had been kings in our own hall, masters of an inheritance beyond imagining. Now, we were just people, staring at a warning that felt as old as the mountains around us, a cold, primordial dread seeping into the warm, triumphant air.
"Old gods..." Lucas breathed, his voice a low rumble. He leaned over the table, his hand resting near the hilt of [Oathsworn], as if the simple presence of the blessed steel could ward off the chill. "It can't an... like Enki, can it? Other refugees from Earth?"
Kasian's great golden eye pulsed softly from his place beside . His telepathic voice was devoid of its usual academic warmth, replaced by a flat, clinical certainty.
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