The Opera House was gone.
To anyone looking from the outside—a scavenger in the swamp or a Seraphim drone in the sky—the ruin had simply ceased to exist.
In its place was a shimmering haze of refracted smog, blending perfectly with the toxic background of the Drowns.
Inside the dome, however, the Sanctum was alive.
The "Prism Generator" hummed on centre stage, casting a kaleidoscope of fractured light across the rot.
Refugees slept in the aisles, protected by the essence Zane had stolen from the Sister.
The Butcher’s men patrolled the lobby, their boots wrapped in rags to dampen the sound.
Zane sat on his prop throne, his eyes closed. He was meditating on the new Essence in his battery.
The Silent Sister's soul was different. It wasn't a heavy weight like Valdis or a cold fury l
