The barometric pressure across the Oakhaven valley did not drop gradually. It plummeted in the span of a single heartbeat.
Zenith was sitting at the heavy ironwood table in the primary study, reviewing crop yields, when his internal diagnostic sensors flared. He looked up toward the grand reinforced windows. The brilliant afternoon sun had already been swallowed by a bruised, unnaturally fast-moving wall of black clouds.
"The atmospheric variables are crashing," Zenith announced, gripping his celestial steel Logic Rod.
The heavy oak doors of the study burst open. Caspian rushed past the tactical table, his dark eyes wide and focused. He was carrying Valeria in his arms. The Warlord's face was pale, her breathing shallow and rigid as she gripped her husband's shoulder.
"The Sovereign's heir is compiling," Ignis stated, stepping out from the hallway, his metallic voice laced with rare urgency.
