The expression of everyone in the hall shifted at once, as though a single wind of revelation had swept through their ranks.
The dukes and counts behind the thrones changed in slight anger. But it was upon the faces of those seated on the great stone thrones that the greatest change could be seen.
"We all know of the Abyss," Apollyon said at last, his voice rolling like iron dragged over stone.
His eyes, sharp and black as a raven's wing, flicked toward Asher, then to the emerald-haired giantess beside him.
His words carried disdain, but underneath, there was a current of caution. "We are all preparing for its inevitable strike. But the only weapon, the only thing that can give our armies the faintest chance at survival is the Mythril crystal mine. And if you do not split it among us…" He leaned forward ever so slightly, his shadow spilling across the floor. "…it will be taken."
