The city did not sleep that night.
Even as the last, faint flickers of corrupted mana faded from the cobblestones, and the distant, hysterical screams finally died into silence, the great city of Elordia pulsed with a deep, unsettling unease beneath its luminous, enchanted facade.
The vibrant, celebratory energy of the festival had been replaced by a heavy, oppressive stillness, a collective holding of breath that settled over the city like a shroud.
Cleanup crews moved through the streets, their movements quiet and grimly efficient. They swept the shattered remains of celebration from the streets—torn banners, their intricate designs now ragged and meaningless; spilled food, now a sticky, forgotten mess on the stone; the glittering shards of a thousand broken mana-lanterns.
There was blood, too, a dark, coppery stain on the cobblestones. Mercifully, it wasn't much.
