The winds screamed over the deserts of the east, tearing at the fortress walls as if the heavens themselves raged against what was happening inside.
Torches sputtered and gutters smoked.
The throne hall of the Engrasia, once a place of pride, filled with jeweled banners and golden idols of their ancestors, now trembled under a storm of a different kind.
The storm had a face.
Thunder Lord stood in the middle of the chamber, his cloak sparking with arcs of lightning that crawled across his shoulders and down his arms.
His hand was clamped around the throat of the eastern king, lifting him into the air like he weighed no more than a sack of grain. The king's crown had already fallen, rolling across the marble floor with a metallic clatter that echoed through the chamber.
