The elven Royal Palace in Mooncrown City, Dawnlight Hall, was renowned for its dome, inlaid with countless enormous mother-of-pearl shells.
When the sky outside turned an ominous crimson, that dome should have filtered the daylight into soft, magnificent hues, bathing the hall in their glow.
Yet now, only an oppressive, sickly dark red seeped through it, casting a bloody shadow over every splendid furnishing within: living wooden sculptures shimmering with magic, silver-thread tapestries depicting ancient legends, and crystal lamps suspended in midair.
Gathered here were the noblest bloodlines of the Blue Flame Kingdom, representatives of its oldest families, and its most powerful mages and advisors.
But the elegance and composure handed down through ten thousand years had now given way to an anxiety they could scarcely conceal.
Several noble ladies renowned for their poise no longer maintained their perfect posture. Their fingers unconsciously twisted the exquisite ribbons or jewels on their gowns, their fingertips white with strain.
An elderly prince had abandoned his signature, perfectly motionless stance. Instead, he paced repeatedly across the carpet of Moonlight Velvet, his jeweled boot heels striking the floor with a dull, unsettling tap, tap.
Elven maids still silently served calming Tranquility Flower tea in jade cups, but most cups were set aside on silver-inlaid tables as soon as they were accepted, untouched.
The curling steam gradually faded, and the tea grew cold, like the hope slowly freezing within the hall.
Deep furrows marked the brows of almost every High Elf.
They no longer exchanged long, knowing looks filled with wisdom. Instead, their gazes darted about uneasily, sometimes toward the faint explosions outside the hall, sometimes toward the handful of senior ministers whispering heatedly beside the throne, and sometimes toward equally anxious colleagues, sharing unspoken looks of concern.
Though they maintained elven decorum and refrained