The carriage rumbled to a stop, its black lacquered wood gleaming beneath the light of the moon.
Osiris Lawless stepped down, his polished boots striking the cobblestones with a clock, the rhythm lost in the buzz that filled the open space.
His eyes, cold and blank, swept across the chaotic scene before him.
His people were already here, the insignia of the Investigation Authority emblazoned on their coats, standing off against the armored soldiers of Camelot's standing army.
Words were exchanged in loud, clipped tones, each side trying to assert dominance over the other.
The stench of blood and charred flesh still hung thick in the air.
Osiris tilted his head back, gazing upward at the fading remnants of a storm still echoing in the sky. The magical pressure could still be felt faintly in the air, like static on the skin, but the caster himself was gone.
Stormborn had already departed.
