The reports first came as whispers, as if the wind wished to carry bad news without having to pronounce them. They were words that slipped through the cracks of the palace, messages passing from fearful lip to lip before reaching the emperor's ear.
Three border outposts had fallen.
No one survived to tell how.
The watchtowers had been found empty, the bonfires extinguished, and instead of the imperial standards proudly waving... there hung tatters soaked in a black ink that seemed to devour the very air around them.
In the Council Hall, the silence weighed more than the jade columns that supported the ceiling. Each advisor occupied their place, but no one dared to speak first. The atmosphere was so dense that it seemed even the torches wavered, as if the flames feared illuminating what was being discussed.
