Mistspren sat, thinking in the dark.
It was so quiet, it was loud. The silence was palpable, roaring all around.
Something changed.
It was an immeasurable shift, at once too large and minute to quantify. A faint tugging, an itch that could not be scratched pointing towards some unknowable event.
Eyes snapping open, Mistspren surveyed the small room. An essence mark pressed onto Mistspren’s arm, granting advanced of Alleymatics, enough to allow some... interesting applications.
A small device shaped like a knife rested in Mistspren’s hand, borne from the years of training and research at the finest universities the mark granted.
Slashing upwards with the device, Mistspren stepped forward. The device ripped a hole in the fabric of time itself, trailing velvety darkness.
Mistspren emerged next to MacThorstenson, nodding toward him cordially before reclining into a chair to watch the duel.
“Hey Mac. Nice pavilion.”