The fortress of Blackfang was no longer a sanctuary; it had become a pressure cooker of celestial energies and ancient grudges. The silver flare from the dungeons had sent the stronghold into a state of total alarm.
Bells tolled from the watchtowers, their bronze clangs vibrating through the freezing air, and the rhythmic stomp of boots echoed like a thousand heartbeats against the hollow stone corridors. The very atmosphere felt thick, charged with the ozone of impending magic and the copper tang of spilled blood.
