The atmosphere within the Scarlet Tower was tense. A murmur spread through its enchanted corridors and winding halls, as if the very structure could sense the approaching storm. The air, once thick with concentrated magic, now seemed to vibrate uncomfortably—bracing itself for an imminent impact.
The first to notice her was a young sorceress apprentice crossing one of the main corridors. Her steps faltered as she felt the faint tremor in the magically forged stones beneath her feet. A chill ran down her spine, and she stopped, glancing forward nervously. Her eyes widened.
A figure emerged at the end of the corridor, draped in a sweeping purple cloak that dragged softly along the floor, its velvet trim brushing the stones in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. The contrast between the dark fabric and the pale bluish fur around the collar was magnificent—and ominous, like the stillness before a storm.
Exelia Virell.
