The silver willow wept in silence, its threads of liquid mercury hanging like frozen rain around the Muse of Lost Scripts. Aegis stood at the edge of the clearing, his Void-Shard Spear humming a low, discordant note that vibrated against the crystalline floor. The Muse's song had ceased, replaced by a pressure so immense it felt as if the air itself had gained the density of lead.
From the hollow of the weeping tree, a new light emerged. It was not the pale blue of the forest or the violet shadow of Aegis's spear; it was a blinding, iridescent white that seemed to contain every color and none at all. The light coalesced into the form of a woman who eclipsed the Muse in both stature and presence.
