But it was the elder in the center who commanded the room.
He was the oldest, his face lined with the deep, etched trenches of millennia.
His hair was a cascade of brittle, stark white, flowing down his back like a frozen waterfall.
Unlike his companions, his eyes were black, possessing the depth and terrifying gravity of a collapsing singularity. When he looked at you, it felt as though he was looking through your flesh, through your bones, and directly into the structural integrity of your soul.
Ji'an felt a sudden, involuntary shudder wreck her frame.
The overwhelming, crushing pressure emanating from the middle was not merely spiritual pressure; it was the physical manifestation of fate itself bearing down upon her shoulders.
The elder stopped at the end of the pathway, his black eyes locking onto Lin Ji'an.
He did not look at her weapon.
