The torchlight in the underground chamber flickered and danced across the First Seat's face as he studied the ancient Grimoire spread before him on the stone table. The text was written in a language that seemed to predate human civilization.
Beside him, seven candles burned in ornate holders, each one representing a life force, a connection to the Seats under his command.
The Second Seat stood near the chamber entrance, a human woman in her late thirties with sharp features and sharper eyes. Her dark hair was pulled back severely, and her cultist robes were immaculate despite the dust and grime of their underground hideout.
She was watching the candles.
And she did not like what she was seeing.
"First Seat," she said, her voice cutting through the chamber's oppressive silence. "We have a problem."
The First Seat didn't look up from his Grimoire. "Speak."
