Silence fell over the pavilion—thick, suffocating, and absolute.
The high-altitude wind howling off the jagged crags of the Wyrmtooth Ridge seemed to freeze in mid-air, stripped of its kinetic force by the immense, quiet weight radiating from the emerald-veined stone table. The foreign delegates, kings, and admirals sat entirely rigid in their carved cedar chairs, their breathing shallow as they looked from the terrifying sovereign to the two men who stood flanking her empty basalt throne.
