The capital was a study in carefully curated grief.
Mourning banners hung from every window, black cloth snapping in the cold wind. Beneath the somber display the city still hummed with restless energy, nobles in their finest mourning silks, merchants selling black ribbons and scented candles, soldiers moving through the streets with sharp, watchful eyes.
Kaelen walked through the gates with his companions, the weight of the original wound pressing against his consciousness. He could feel it beneath the palace: a cold, ancient presence that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
The royal palace rose ahead of them, white stone and gold filigree gleaming even under the overcast sky. Guards lined every entrance. Dignitaries from across the continent streamed through the doors, faces arranged into perfect masks of sorrow.
The bond pulsed in quiet warning.
[Alert: Multiple magical signatures detected within the palace. Several are hostile in nature.]
