The arrival of the Phoenix Sovereign was not a quiet event, nor was it a subtle one. The sky above the Ninth Sector did not simply brighten; it ignited. The golden atmosphere of the Atlas, usually as thick and sweet as honey, was scorched away by a localized sun of white plasma.
"SCREECH!"
A single, piercing cry shattered the morning stillness, a sound that held the resonance of a thousand crystal bells being struck by a hammer of pure light.
Eos stood on the porch, her eyes narrowed against the glare. Beside her, Caelum had his hand on the hilt of a sword that was more a physical manifest of gravity than a blade of metal. They watched as the great bird descended, her wingspan casting a flickering, high-heat shadow over the rosemary garden.
