The foundation stone split with a sound like a library collapsing underwater. Silver light roared upward in a column that painted every face in the square the color of old scars. Scholars stumbled back. Wardens raised iron shields that immediately grew too hot to hold. On the balcony Lira felt the Harth wound notice her the way a tide notices a single stone.
It was not the precise, edge-seeking presence she had limited in Veythra. This one was broader, older, and irritated at having been sat on for centuries. It pushed against the lens hard enough to make the spiral scars along her arms blaze white.
Kael squinted into the glare. “I give the dramatic entrance full marks. Points off for trying to cook the audience.”
Cal clutched the slate to his chest. “Is it supposed to be that loud?”
“
