The palace shuddered, the stone groaning like an ancient beast rousing from slumber.
Outside, the hammers fell silent, replaced by confused shouts from Garrick's men.
Elara's heart pounded, a frantic drumbeat in her chest, as the air hummed with energy, her energy, unbound and surging.
The wish, spoken in jest, had ignited her power, twisting it into reality.
The walls around them rippled, cracks sealing with a grinding crunch, veins of gold threading through the grey stone like molten rivers cooling into filigree.
Chandeliers materialised overhead, diamonds winking into existence, catching the sunlight in prismatic bursts that painted the hall in rainbows.
The maids gasped, staggering as the floor bucked beneath them. "Earthquake!" Liora cried, her voice high with panic, clutching the table for support.
Brenna's parchments scattered, fluttering like startled birds, while Aveline dropped her broom, the wood clattering loudly.
Lysandra moved like a shadow, pulling Elara close, her arms wrapping protectively around her.
"It's not, it's you," she whispered urgently, her breath hot against Elara's ear.
The guards burst into the hall, armour clanking, swords half-drawn. "Protect the Empress!" one bellowed, their faces pale under scarred helmets.
Beyond the palace, the kingdom transformed in waves.
Houses in the city below shifted, their sagging roofs straightening, walls thickening into sturdy marble with intricate carvings, flowers and vines etched in crystal that gleamed under the sun.
Plants burst forth, vines climbing higher, blooming larger with vibrant petals the size of fists, their scents overwhelming: sweet jasmine, earthy moss, sharp citrus from lemon trees swelling to unnatural heights.
The kingdom's outer walls rose, stone stacking upon stone with thunderous cracks, towering high and impenetrable, battlements forming like jagged teeth against the sky.
But the change was violent, the ground heaving as if the earth itself rebelled.
In the streets, people screamed, pouring from their homes, merchants abandoning stalls, mothers clutching children, farmers dropping tools that clattered to the cobblestones.
"The gods are angry!" someone wailed, the cry echoing through the chaos.
Dust clouds billowed, choking the air with the gritty taste of stone and soil. Bells tolled wildly from a distant tower, their peals discordant and frantic.
The Count—Varrow, the builder ally summoned earlier, and his family joined the fleeing masses.
Darius gripped his wife Elowen's hand, their son Ronan and daughter Sable trailing behind, faces streaked with fear.
"To the market square!" he shouted, his voice booming over the din, herding neighbours as the ground bucked again.
Houses groaned, doors slamming open and shut, windows shattering in sprays of glass that tinkled like deadly rain.
The square became a sea of bodies, people huddling together, whispers of "earthquake" spreading like wildfire, their breaths ragged, hearts racing in collective terror.
Back in the hall, Elara collapsed against Lysandra, a sharp pain lancing through her skull.
Blood welled in her throat, metallic and warm, and she coughed it up in a spray that stained her gown crimson.
It dribbled from her ears, a slow trickle that muffled the sounds around her—the guards' shouts fading to a distant roar, the maids' cries blurring into echoes.
Her vision swam, blood seeping from the corners of her eyes like red tears, blurring the transforming room into a haze of gold and crystal.
"Hold on," Lysandra urged, her voice tight with fear she rarely showed, lowering Elara to the floor as the tremors peaked.
The guards formed a ring around them, shields raised against falling debris—chunks of old ceiling plaster crashing down in powdery explosions.
One guard stumbled as a vine erupted through the floor, thick and green, coiling like a serpent, its leaves rustling aggressively.
Elara's body convulsed, power pouring out unchecked, rebuilding the kingdom in exquisite detail.
Palace halls expanding with arched ceilings of crystal that refracted light into dazzling patterns, gardens blooming with oversized roses whose thorns gleamed like diamonds, streets paving themselves in smooth cobble veined with gold.
But each change exacted its toll—her breath came in gasps, blood pooling on the stone, the taste overwhelming, her ears ringing with a high-pitched whine.
The turmoil subsided gradually, the ground stilling, the air clearing of dust.
The palace stood renewed, finer than before—walls sturdy, designs intricate, plants thriving in unnatural vigour.
The kingdom outside mirrored it: houses stable and elegant, walls high and strong, a bastion against the world.
Yet, the people in the square remained huddled, whispers turning to awe as they beheld the changes, fear lingering like a shadow.
Lysandra wiped blood from Elara's face with trembling hands, her eyes fierce. "You fool," she whispered, half-angry, half-tender. "But... look what you've done."
Elara managed a weak smile, her voice a rasp. "A wish... come true."
The hall fell quiet, save for the maids' sobs and the guards' heavy breaths, the weight of the miracle, and its cost, settling over them like a shroud.