Chapter 250 - Brewing storms
Evelyne stirred from her slumber, roused by an unsettling cacophony of distant noises and faint, haunting cries. Groggily, her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the darkness that enveloped her bedroom as consciousness slowly seeped back into her mind.
What in the world could that be?
With a soft rustle of fabric, she pushed aside her bedsheet and gingerly rose, her bare feet recoiling slightly as they met the cold floorboards. She padded across the room until she reached the window, drawing back the heavy curtains to reveal the snow-blanketed inner courtyard nestled at the heart of the estate.
Could it have been part of her dream?
As she pondered, a massive shadow swept across the gloomy morning sky, catching her attention. Evelyne leaned closer to the glass, her breath fogging the pane as she squinted into the distance, questioning whether her still-drowsy mind was playing tricks on her.
Suddenly, an explosion shattered the silence. Plumes of dark smoke began to billow from the city’s edge, unfurling against the pale sky like ominous banners. Her eyes widened as she watched the scene rapidly worsen. More columns of smoke erupted across different points in the city, and soon, the entire skyline above Autumnwell was bathed in an otherworldly crimson glow, its source hidden.
Evelyne immediately recognized it. That was a flare spell. A warning.
The city was under attack.
She spun on her heel, her nightgown swirling around her legs as she rushed to the closet. Without bothering about the details, she forced on her clothes and darted out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the corridor. In the mansion’s hallways, she soon encountered clusters of confused servants in various states of undress, their whispered conversations a blend of fear and speculation. She made her way past them, trying to keep a calm expression even as the concern grew inside her.
Now fully alert, she reached the foyer. There, she found a man trying to orchestrate some of the other servants to keep some semblance of order. His brown uniform was impeccably pressed despite the early hour, and his flaxen-blond hair and neatly trimmed mustache gave him an air of cultivated droit as he issued rapid-fire instructions around him.
The head butler of the estate.
As Evelyne approached, the man turned to face her, his expression shifting to one of polite deference. “Ah, Lady Hartford,” he said, his tone surprisingly measured. “My sincerest apologies for the commotion. It appears the city is under attack by some manner of miscreants, you see. However, rest assured, I’m sure that Autumnwell’s stalwart defenders will promptly address this situation with utmost haste and efficiency.”