Reverberations shook the building. All the citizens and authorities outside stood like livestock behind a barricade the police force had quickly put up.
The entrance of Palais Celneir was baron—a view not often seen even in the early hours of the morning. The afternoon sky grew grey, as dark clouds formed to block the Sun. Everyone felt the heat being pulled away from the air; the chill of winter had arrived in spring.
There was a sense of dimming around the vicinity of the opera house; it was not merely that the skies grew darker, it was more as if the light of the surroundings were being subtly drawn towards the roof of the palace.
What magics were at work were beyond anyone's theories. Whispers and shouts were exchanged equally while waves crashed against the sea wall and the rivers undulated unrhythmically.
While crowds blocked the way and authorities kept them at bay, a red-armoured figure clanked his way through and caught his breath in front of a policeman.
