Deep beneath the palace foundation, in a vaulted stone chamber where the structural arches had been reinforced by heavy columns of Soren's frost, the air was thick with the smell of old dust and cold earth.
Ryse stood near the narrow entrance of the sanctuary, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, his eyes darting across the dark passageway outside. It was the stance of a man who did not know what form the next threat would take, only that it was coming.
Near the center of the room, Eris remained perfectly still on a low stone ledge. She remained trapped deep within the magic's grasp, her features locked in the rigid, unseeing terror of the child she had been when the first seal was branded into her spirit.
Beside her, Mira held both of the woman's hands, her grip tight and steady.
Muffled sounds filtered down through the thick stone ceiling, distant rumbles, the faint, unnatural roar of the magical fire, and the occasional sharp echo of screaming from the streets above.
