The tall, ornate doors of the sacred hall creaked open, their weight making the hinges groan in a low echo that rolled across the marble floor. From the corridor beyond, Sapphira emerged like a vision from a painting, clad in a flowing gown of deep green silk that shimmered subtly with each step, the hue mirroring the cascade of her long, emerald hair. Light from the high arched windows caught in her tresses, weaving gold into green.
Her gaze swept forward and settled upon Eric Adamos.
He stood in the vast, high-ceilinged hall alone, the cold of the endless winter still clinging to him in the form of a thick brown fur coat that hung over his travel-worn attire. Outside, the land had been locked in snow for months without reprieve, and wearing such coats had become not just customary but a survival necessity. The faint scent of frost and wet leather lingered around him.
