The air in the Obsidian Conclave's central chamber was no longer air—it was a living, choking miasma, thick with the weight of ancient magic and the acrid tang of ozone. A crimson halo pulsed above the ancient stone dais, its light casting jagged shadows that danced like specters across the cavernous walls. Thirteen arch-seats loomed in a semicircle, each occupied by a robed figure cloaked in ceremonial garments that shimmered with runes of judgment—runes that seemed to writhe like living serpents under the flickering torchlight. The trial had begun, and its gravity pressed against every soul in the chamber.
Valerian Kael'thas of House Nightshade stood at the center of it all.
Bound by neither chains nor fear.
