The memory struck Lyralei like a blade between dimensions as the first Reaper's touch began unraveling the outer edges of her domain. She was three years old again, standing in the ash-choked ruins of Reality Designation Keth-9, the only survivor of what the cosmic predators would later classify as their first major defeat.
Her infant hands had been stained with the ichor of dying Harvesters.
"Focus, my Lord," Vex'thara's crystalline voice cut through her reverie, the geometric being's consciousness pulsing with concern through their blood-bond. "The Reapers are accelerating their consumption pattern. We have perhaps seventeen minutes before they reach the inner sanctum."
