The ballroom buzzed with energy. The announcement had split the gathering between disbelief and awe, but curiosity quickly won out. Discussions bloomed like firecrackers—noble circles forming, dissolving, and reforming again as wine poured freely and golden trays of rare delicacies passed between jeweled hands.
Marsai, ever the consummate host, watched from the mezzanine. Despite her inner turmoil, she had orchestrated a flawless event. Everything—down to the shifting ambiance of the string quartet—kept the nobles intoxicated by spectacle.
In the eye of the storm, Nioh stood calm, nursing a glass of crimson nectar as small knots of power players gathered and dispersed around him.
At last, the crowd parted just enough for two men to reach him—both older, broad-shouldered, cloaked in ceremonial armor etched with silver flames.
The Wardens.
