It was more than lightning.
It was judgment.
A single bolt tore through the heavens like a spear of godly wrath, and where it struck, reality bent.
The golden-hued chandeliers above the banquet hall shattered, metal warped, and the white marble cracked beneath the pressure. The smell of retribution and scorched silk spread like a creeping fog, blanketing everything in acrid dread.
It was no ordinary storm.
It was not nature's tantrum—it was the fury of something old and deep. The weight of the heavens had been dragged down to the earth, and they were... angry.
Everyone in the hall raised their arms, shields, cloaks—anything to guard themselves from the force that erupted across the marble.
Some dropped to the floor, others backed away behind columns and pillars. Even the proudest warriors scrambled for cover. Fear rolled over them in waves.
Everyone—except Iris.
