Inside the royal palace, devastation shook the corridors.
Explosions of mana echoed in the distance, walls cracked, and the sound of clashing steel and shouts carried faintly through the halls.
Inside the room of Elaria Moonshade Lareth'Thalas, chaos had already passed.
Elaria was on her knees.
Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth, sliding down her chin and staining the floor beneath her. Her breathing was rough, shoulders trembling, mana exhausted. Her bow lay a short distance away, its string frayed from overuse.
Standing in front of her was a gray-haired man who looked to be in his fifties, but whose eyes held a cold, hardened cruelty that had nothing to do with age.
Marcus Reed.
All around him stood masked figures in dark uniforms—his subordinates. Their faces were hidden, their auras sharp and murderous, forming a tight circle around Elaria's room, cutting off every escape route.
