The heavy iron doors of the primary archival vault slammed shut with a concussive boom that rattled the ink-pots on fifty different desks.
Silence descended on the room instantly. The scratching of quills ceased. The shuffling of parchment died. Fifty Gen 13 and Gen 14 Ministry scribes froze in their seats, staring in sudden terror at the heavily fortified entrance.
Lyss Myrvalis stood before the sealed doors. Her black, scale-plated armor was immaculate. Her long, segmented tail swept back and forth across the stone floor in sharp, rigid arcs—a physical metronome of absolute, suffocating stress.
"The archives are sealed," Lyss announced, her voice tight, echoing off the high stone ceiling. "No one enters. No one leaves. No aetheric messages will be transmitted. All scrying basins are immediately powered down. By order of the Sovereign, the Ministry of Whispers is under a Level-One Loyalty Audit."
A collective, barely perceptible shudder ran through the room.
