Aethelgard had never imagined a banquet like this. The palace's grand hall, usually filled with the scent of holy incense and the blue glow of mana, now vibrated softly with the hum of steam engines installed behind the marble walls. This was no longer just a delayed wedding feast; it was a funeral for the old order.
Anne sat at the high table, flanked by Harold. She wore a gown crafted from Isfellan synthetic fibers—jet black with a metallic silver sheen that caught the warm orange light of the hall's lamps. Before them, the nobles of Aethelgard sat with rigid faces, consuming their meal in a suffocating silence.
"They stare at us as if we are a plague," Harold whispered, his hand remaining near the hidden dagger beneath his coat.
"Not a plague, Harold," Anne replied, taking a sip of her wine. "They stare at us because we are the debt collectors holding a bill they cannot pay."
In a corner of the hall, Caine was confronting a group of technocrats from the City Council. He no longer held banking ledgers, but rather a blueprint showing the integration of steam rail lines that would connect Isfellan directly to the heart of Aethelgard.
"You cannot build that line through our clan's sacred lands!" one old nobleman barked.
"Your sacred lands won't produce any wheat if your mana-powered water pumps die out completely next week," Caine countered emotionlessly. "The Catalyst does not ask for permission, Sir. We offer survival. The choice is yours, but the price rises by the hour."
Suddenly, the music stopped. Emperor Valerion stood, raising his golden chalice. However, before he could speak, Archmage Silas stumbled into the hall. His face was no longer composed; his blind eye now wept a thick, pitch-black fluid.
"You think this is over?!" Silas screamed, his voice bouncing off the high vaulted ceilings. "You bring machines to the place where ancient gods sleep! You severed the mana flow, but you have no idea what you have unleashed!"
Silas pointed a trembling finger at Anne. "That key wasn't just to open the gate, Valerion! That key was a tether! Without a legitimate Tower leader, the underground frequencies will call upon those who were meant to stay locked within The Lesser Key!"
The floor of the hall suddenly lurched. It wasn't the mechanical vibration of Isfellan's engines, but an organic tremor that felt like a giant heartbeat beneath the earth. Cracks began to spiderweb across the marble floor, and from within, a black mist smelling of sulfur began to crawl out.
Rainnes, standing near a window, suddenly shrieked. "Sister Anne! The voices... they've changed! It's not Mother! It's... it's something hungry!"
Harold stood, pulling Anne behind his back. "I knew this peace was too short to be real."
Anne showed no fear. Instead, she felt the silver circuits beneath her skin pulse. She realized the one thing Silas hadn't mentioned: when her mother was freed, the seal that had been maintained by her mother's consciousness had also loosened.
"Harold, Caine! Secure the guests!" Anne commanded, her voice now echoing with absolute authority. "Silas is right about one thing... we unleashed something. But he is wrong to think our iron cannot kill it."
From a crack in the floor, a giant hand made of shadow and flame emerged, crushing the banquet table. Aethelgard's new symphony had just gained its true antagonist.