The air in the Salem Witch Council's crystal ball hall didn't just feel old; it felt saturated. Centuries of incense, whispered incantations, and spent magic had seeped into the very stone, creating a pressure that made normal breathing a conscious effort. The hall was circular, its domed ceiling lost in shadow. In the center, a massive, milky-white crystal sphere, easily the size of a small car, rested on a pedestal of obsidian. It pulsed with a soft, internal light, casting shifting, phantom patterns on the faces of the thirteen witches standing in a circle around it.
Scarlett held Alexander's hand, their grip tight. They stood just inside the circle, guests in this sacred space. Luna stood between them, small and solemn, her usual vibrant energy muted. She wasn't scared, Scarlett realized. She was… focused, her emerald eyes fixed on the sphere as if listening to a song only she could hear.
