The Iris

It was high noon by the time Zariel stopped before a blooming tree that appeared as if it didn't belong. Pink blossoming petals rustled like leaves from their branches, dancing through the winds far above the mountains beyond. He reached up, touching his face as a mask seemed to dawn handsome features. 

"Give me a report," Zariel ordered, unsurprised by the seven shadowy figures that appeared on one knee. Each wore a black iron mask shrouded in shadowy flames that appeared to be from a nightmare of sorts.

"The Atrium has not been found, Lord Fifth," said the leader of the seven. "Seismic readings have revealed only high deposits of Acane veins but no recorded reading of Atrium." 

"Do we have accurate readings to determine what frequency the Atrium is registered at?" Zariel coolly asked, reaching up to pluck a pedal. He lifted a brow behind his mask at the way the pedal turned to the color of blood, then pink, as a gust of wind whisked it away.