The air in the Cathedral did not just grow cold. It became a physical weight that pressed against the lungs, turning every breath into a jagged plume of mist. Isaac stood at the epicenter of a white void. His eyes were a flat, terrifying white that seemed to drain the color from the surrounding metal. The jagged pillars of ice rising from the floor were not just obstacles. They were conductors for his intent, vibrating with the resonance of a king's command.
"We are defined as Elites," Isaac said. His voice was a calm, resonant chord that bypassed the ears and echoed directly in the mind. "But a rank is a floor, not a ceiling. You are still scratching at the surface of your potential. I have already seen the bottom."
