"They destroy the pawns… well," the man said, voice low, gaze locked on the swirling orb of vision before him. Within its depths, echoes of battle danced—flashes of Joshua's blade, the collapse of the Architect, and the final unraveling of the Spiral.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"They've served their purpose."
Beside the orb, another hovered—this one trembling, pulsing with muffled screams. It didn't show images. It contained them. Entire souls locked within—a prison of memory and pain.
Footsteps echoed behind him. Not loud. Measured. Like a poem only half remembered.
Then a voice followed—soft, airy, and edged like a blade made of silk.
"That girl's foresight is terrifying," the woman said. "If I weren't who I am, even I would not have been able to avert her gaze."
She stepped into view.
