Fiorensia stood in the center of the secret chamber, her crimson robes pooling at her feet like liquid dusk. The air was filled with incense, curling in ghostly tendrils as the flickering light of the enchanted mechanical lanterns cast elongated shadows across the walls.
This place had not been used in centuries, hidden beneath the Mors estate, waiting for the rightful wielder of its dark power to awaken it once more. The nobles stood before her. Fifteen of them, their faces filled with greed and apprehension. They had come willingly, drawn by promises of wealth, longevity, and power, gifts that Fiorensia alone could bestow.
Each of them bore a golden sigil upon their hands, a mysterious mark signifying their participation in the ritual. None of them fully understood the price they would pay. At the center of the chamber lay a massive sigil carved into a special ore.
