In the banquet square, chaos had erupted.
Mix, one of the Nellings guards, dropped to his knees with a strangled gasp. His body convulsed, muscles rippling as though something coiled beneath his skin. Veins darkened to indigo, spreading like ink through glass. His eyes rolled white—then flared with a cold, oceanic glow.
The air warped around him. A low hum rose, vibrating through the air, and the scent of salt and brine thickened in every breath. His back arched, bones lengthening, spine cracking in rhythm like breaking waves. His shoulders broadened, chest expanding with an impossible grace. Skin gave way to fur—short, sleek, black with a sheen of deep blue that shimmered like the night sea under the moonlight.
His face twisted, but not into something monstrous. The sharpness of his ja
