"Heard, more than seen," Meteion says. She isn't causing a fuss, letting both her smaller size and youthful looks to camouflage herself--similar to a little bird, hiding as the predator flies over. It's a deceit she's not truly used to, but whatever works.

She pitches her voice low, now. "There are those who keep whispering of a 'ritual space'. I do not entirely understand..." Not that that's a great surprise--the Ancients (or Ascians, if one prefers) were paragons of creation magick, but in their heyday, they needed no ritual.

"It does seem, though, that we have all been collected for...some purpose." What that was, however, the entelechy could not say.