For a moment, Celestina felt a cold dread seep into her bones as she gazed at the swirling vortex of jagged remains. But almost as quickly, that dread was consumed—replaced by something far more potent. A numbing, eerie coldness. And beneath it, simmering just beneath her skin, was hatred.
There was no need for lanterns anymore. The dome was dim, but not dark, casting just enough visibility to see their surroundings—except for the ceiling above and the shadowed pathways leading deeper into the corridors.
Celestina let her lantern drop, the fragile glass shattering at her feet. A soft, white glow pulsed in her left hand, while her right hand tightened around the hilt of her beautiful silver sword.
"That thing is a Grade 3 Abyssal."
She turned her head slightly. Sir Henrik stood beside her, his gaze locked onto the void creature, his expression unreadable.
