The Roamita family's sanctum was cloaked in velvet and shadow.
Overhead, a crystal chandelier shimmered coldly, casting a pale blue light over polished floors that reflected not opulence, but menace. Every wall bore engraved sigils, stained faintly with dried blood—silent witnesses to countless forbidden rites that had been conducted in this room.
At the center of the hall sat a long, blackwood table. And at its heart, resting on an iron pedestal, was a glass orb that pulsed like a beating heart.
Each thump sent a flicker of sickly purple light and thick mist crawling across the chamber.
The patriarch of the Roamita family sat at the head, his broad shoulders wrapped in crimson robes embroidered with serpent patterns. Around him were elders, advisers, and heirs—faces tight with worry, yet cloaked in arrogance.
The orb stirred the next moment.
Shadows writhed within, and then a distorted shape rose from its depths.
