The lighting felt wrong.
No mundane torches or natural sunlight were filtering through the canvas.
The illumination was provided by dozens of floating, ghostly orbs of pale, violet faerie fire that cast long, unnatural, erratic shadows across the faces of the audience.
'It feels... weird,' Seraphina thought, her small brow furrowing as she allowed herself to be hoisted up onto Sir Boris's broad shoulders for a better view.
She blinked, pushing her Spirit Sight to the forefront, trying to get a read on the ambient mana of the tent.
But it was like trying to look through a thick, static-filled television screen.
The Verdant Gate was already a chaotic soup of magical energy, but inside this tent, the magical 'noise' was deafening.
The spatial expansion arrays, the floating lights, and the volume of excited human auras completely scrambled her radar.
She couldn't see any ghosts, nor could she see any distinctly hostile auras.
