The weight in the room was unbearable.
Lucavion sat there, utterly at ease, while his mana crushed everything around him.
The black starlight that swirled from his body wasn't just powerful—it was dense, overwhelming, consuming. The pitch-black flames that interwove with it carried a force that felt wrong—not in the sense of corruption, but in the sense of sheer, unnatural dominance.
For the first time, the gathered men weren't just assessing him. They were acknowledging him.
Soren exhaled sharply, his usual scowl tightening into something more serious. No more mockery. No more doubt. He wasn't reckless enough to ignore what was right in front of him.
Marciel, ever the composed one, had gone completely still. His calculating eyes flicked between Lucavion and Draven, the gears in his mind turning rapidly. This wasn't just strong. This wasn't just impressive. This was something they hadn't accounted for.
