The heavy silence that followed the sealing of the Oubliette was not a sign of peace; it was the vacuum created before a massive implosion. The air in the Great Hall remained thick with the scent of ozone and the coppery tang of blood. Below the feet of the assembled guests, the muffled, frantic scratching of Lucien Blackfang echoed through the stone.
Gwen stood at the center of the hall, her silver gown shimmering with a cold, solar light. She breathed in the chaos, her golden eyes scanning the faces of those who had watched her suffer for a decade. But the silence was short-lived.
The massive iron doors, still humming with Gwen's sealing magic, were suddenly struck from the outside. A moment later, they groaned open as the pressure of the spell was released.
Two men marched into the hall, their presence a collision of two different types of greed.
