The stillness held for the space of one slow breath.
Then the air above Arthur's head rippled like disturbed water, and a sword slid out of the empty sky.
It hung point down above him, a long blade of purple and gold, the two colors twisting along its edge like twin currents that refused to mix.
A low hum rolled off it, the very same pure note as the cry that had stopped the hall. Wherever the sound touched, the air bent.
Dust curved around the blade in slow spirals, and the stone beneath it rippled as though it no longer knew where it ended.
Arthur stood under it with his hands behind his back. He did not look up.
The frozen charge broke apart. Frost jerked forward and halted.
The swarm of insects shuddered in the air.
The demons stumbled a half step and stopped, as though a hand they could not see had pushed them back.
