The wind howled past Lara's ears as she vaulted off the palace stairs, cape fluttering like a banner of war. Her boots struck cobblestone, quick and heavy—each step a hammerbeat against fate.
The bell echoed still. Distant. Wrong. As if it were ringing underwater, buried beneath something thick and enchanted. A distortion spell, perhaps. Or worse.
Her heart pounded.
Not from the sprint—but from the certainty that she was already too late.
As she darted past courtyards and shuttered homes, the people of the capital peeked out behind curtains and rooftops. Their princess—blue-haired and blazing—was moving like a comet toward danger.
Some whispered prayers.
Some simply watched.
All felt it—the tension that bloomed through the bones of Berkimhum like a second pulse.
Something unnatural had crept into the city.
And it had come through the gates.
