The sanctum descended into a cacophony of screeching stone and rhythmic metallic clangs as the sentinels descended from their perches. These were not living creatures but constructs of cold history, bound by an ancient directive to protect the throne from any who lacked the royal bloodline. Julian braced himself as the lead sentinel lunged, its limbs blurring with impossible speed. He parried the strike with his blade, the clash producing a spray of sparks that lit the chamber in harsh, flickering intervals.
Elara moved with a grace born of desperation. She did not strike at the constructs but instead reached into the foundational geometry of the room, forcing the stone to warp. She caused the floor to ripple like a disturbed pond, unbalancing the sentinels and turning their rigid precisi
