Luther stared blankly at Piern, his mind swirling from anger to mid-confusion. Dragged here… by magic itself? The words gnawed at him like sharp blades, every syllable heavier than the last.
"What the hell do you mean, magic itself?" he demanded, his tone sharp, his voice cutting through the silent chamber.
Piern didn't flinch this time. Instead, the angel raised his hand toward the air, palm open as if offering something to the unseen. A soft golden glow shimmered between his fingers, and with it, a small white flower materialized. Its petals danced on a breeze that wasn't there, curling and twisting until they dissolved into faint motes of light, vanishing without a trace.
