Suspended in a void, an inky blackness that stretched endlessly in all directions. The only points of reference, beacons in the endless night, were the eight-pointed star of his sigil, and a swirling mass of gas that hung suspended above.
Silax watched his Animus as it soared gracefully with its obsidian wings, each feather a burning ember, cast an eerie glow upon the surrounding emptiness.
The Animus swooped and weaved its movements purposeful and precise as it navigated a swirling gas cloud, unleashing a torrent of black fire. These weren't mere flames, but tendrils of concentrated Orenda.
The gas cloud, unlike the endless black, shimmered with an ethereal silver light. It pulsed with a gentle luminescence, almost alive, and seemed to shrink with each passing moment.