The chamber was vast — a perfect hemispherical dome carved from translucent crystal.
All around five hundred thrones were arranged in precise rows and columns, rising in tiered semicircles like the seats of an ancient courtroom.
Each throne was distinct—some crafted from living silver, others from black stone, some woven with pure threads of fate, and some blazing with contained conceptual fire—yet all bore the same austere, timeless design.
Most of the Ancestors sat in deep meditation, eyes shut, their auras gently pulsing as they cultivated in silence.
A few spoke in quiet tones, while a handful hovered just above their seats, legs crossed, keeping watch over the outside.
The moment Basher appeared at the center of the lowest circle, every eye — open or shut — turned toward him, some with keen interest, others with only a passing glance.
But event still.... the air grew heavy instantly.
