The night air in Anarats grew sharper, biting to the bone. Though the blizzard had just passed, snow fell again in fine flakes, dancing beneath the flickering glow of torches along the main street. Sylvia descended swiftly from the hilltop temple, her cloak whipping, her hood shadowing a pale face still burdened by the memory of her encounter with Lumielle's fragment.
Her thoughts had yet to settle when a foreign voice pierced her mind not through her ears, but directly within her thoughts. Deep, heavy, yet familiar.
"My Queen…"
Sylvia stopped. Her crimson eyes narrowed, her breath caught for a moment. It was Noir, her black dragon. He rarely used telepathy unless the matter was urgent.
"Our castle… is under attack."
Though her heart no longer beat like a human's, Sylvia felt a tremor within her chest. Her cold blood seemed to surge faster.
"Attacked?!" her whisper cut sharp into the drifting snow. "By whom?!"
