The air in the ruined office grew deathly still, the weight of the Grand Arbiter’s presence pinning us to the floor like insects under a microscope. Her robes were not merely fabric but woven light, flickering with a golden radiance that made my Crimson Eye ache in sympathetic protest. Behind her, two silent figures materialized from the shifting walls, Sentinels, their faces hidden behind masks of polished ivory.
"Arbiter," Seraphina breathed, her voice tight with a mixture of terror and ancient recognition. She stepped forward, shielding me, though her own hands were trembling. "The records are destroyed. You cannot claim the archive still exists to justify this purge."
The woman laughed, a sound that carried the clinical coldness of a glacier. "The archive is merely a container, child
