[Zahryssar—Imperial Palace—Midnight—continuation]
CRASH!
The sound echoed throughout the imperial chamber; wine spilled across marble floors. Fragments of silver rolled beneath expensive furniture, and for the first time in many years...the Emperor of Zahryssar staggered.
The room became deathly silent. Slyvarakh's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. The ancient wood cracked beneath his grip; his breathing had become uneven.
Not visibly, not enough for ordinary people to notice but enough to terrify him. Silver eyes narrowed, slowly and dangerously. Then he looked down.
At his hand, at the faint black veins beneath his skin. The veins that had accompanied him since his resurrection, the veins that symbolized power.
Immortality...victory over death, and for a brief moment...they flickered and then vanished.
Silence.
The Emperor stared, mumbling, "No...not possible."
