They met Eon in a room that had already survived it.
The hall was slightly older than the rest of the Academy - a long nave ribbed in stone and braced with veins of dull luminite, each vein cased in glass that had been etched with warnings no one bothered to translate anymore. The floor was a mosaic of dark plates crosshatched with shallow channels, all of it sloped toward copper grates as if the room preferred its accidents tidy. In the walls, broad panels of black material sat between columns like patient tombstones.
Kori leaned against the rear pillar with her arms folded and her expression on her default mischief. She didn't announce herself. She didn't need to. The eight felt her like a laugh waiting to happen.
At the front stood a small, old woman with a staff that did not need introduction. Her spine was straight enough to insult gravity. Her hair was a silver crown she refused to wear like one. She tapped the staff once. The sound didn't echo. It obeyed.
