Chapter 45 The High Circle Stirs

The halls of the Sanctum of the High Circle were eerily silent, save for the ticking of the grand clock that hung above the obsidian altar. Each tick echoed like a funeral drum, heavy and ominous. The members of the Circle sat in their thrones—seven robed figures, their faces hidden behind masks of gold, silver, and bone. One by one, their eyes turned toward the cracked mirror in the center of the chamber, where an image of Isla and Dominic shimmered like firelight. The sigil had flared again—and this time, it had not simply awakened.