The transition from the war-torn office in Geneva back to the high, violet-misted rafters of the Blackwood Temple was like diving into a pool of cool, still water after standing in an inferno. The air here was different now—it didn't just smell of ancient stone and rosemary; it smelled of possibility. The "New Covenant" had been broadcast, the gods were holding their breath, and for the first time in a century, the King of Equilibrium was no longer a prisoner of his own throne.
Hailey stood before the tall, arched mirror in the upper library, staring at the woman looking back. She was no longer the girl in the torn blouse who had stumbled into the forest with a leaky car and a heavy heart. Her skin held a faint, pearlescent glow—the lingering resonance of her mother's soul-print—and her eyes were a deep, sunset amber that flickered with starlight whenever she grew frustrated.
"You're scowling at the glass again," Baphomet's voice rumbled from the shadows.
