The great hall's heavy doors slammed shut behind Alaric as he sprinted toward the armory, his boots echoing on the stone floor. Lord Yoanas DeLambre stood motionless for a heartbeat, the weight of his broadsword pulling at his hip. The fire in the hearth sputtered, casting jagged shadows across his weathered face. Captain Torren lingered by the threshold, his hand on his sword hilt, eyes darting to his lord for orders.
"Move, Torren," Yoanas snapped, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Every second we waste, Bloodbane gets closer. Mages, wards, armor—now!"
Torren nodded sharply, turning on his heel. "Aye, my lord!" He barked orders to the guards outside, their hurried footsteps fading into the corridor. The manor stirred like a beast roused from slumber, its halls filling with the clatter of armor and the shouts of men rushing to their posts.
