Percy stood among the splintered timbers and smoking rubble on the outskirts of Ravenia, the ruins of a small street still steaming in the chill of pre-dawn. A violent shockwave had split the night here, followed by an explosion that rattled windows and set foxfire flickering across the toppled carts. Because this quarter lay a little way from the capital's heart, most people would treat it like another drunken brawl gone wrong: a noise, a rumor, and then everything would be folded into the day's other small disasters.
Percy however knew what had happened obviously.
A half-dozen Ravenian knights moved through the wreckage. They had been searching all night, combing through shattered masonry and overturned soil. Percy's patience, however, had limits. Morning was coming; the city would wake; and still—no bodies.
"It's…odd," he told himself.
