The Pain of Parting
The gloom still shrouded Moonspire, but it was beginning to relax its hold. The rich obsidian of the heavens was lightening—tender wisps of blue seeping in like the first gasp before dawn. Morning would come later still—maybe an hour, possibly two—but something in the atmosphere had already changed.
Streetlights burned softly along the palace walks, their golden glow shimmering like drowsy embers. Lanterns, suspended far up against walls of marble, traced slow-moving shadows across cobblestone courtyards. The city slumbered, enclosed in silence. Not a murmur awakened. Only the random re-echo of a guard's boots broke the quiet.
In the Core Palace, black-armored sentries strode with sharp precision, their patrols doubled following the king's new instructions. Every step was deliberate, but taut. Paranoia seeped in—permeating walls, weaving itself in and out of whispers and stares. It was a city poised to awaken into something sinister.
