Deep in the layers of Carthage, footsteps echoed through the air as the two mercenaries entered the large hall.
The light of the hall bathed their faces as they walked down the walkway, before stopping before the elevated platform that stood on one end of the hall.
They sank to their knees, head bowed.
The entire hall was quiet, save for the low hum of energy buzzing from the silver flame that hovered above the center of the round table that stood on the platform.
The longer the mercenaries waited in silence, the more the air seemed to crackle.
It was as if the air had been charged with a pressure that seemed to press down heavily upon their spines.
Even the walls of the hall seemed to vibrate along with the tune, listening in to whatever orders might be given to it.
One of the mercenaries lifted his head a fraction, peeking at the embodiment of power that was in the room with them.
The man floated on the elevated platform, his feet not even touching the ground.
