Igor

The citadel held its breath.

I felt it in every step I took through corridors that should have hummed with morning activity. Servants moved like shadows, pressing themselves against walls when I passed, their eyes fixed on the floor. No whispers.

No clattering of dishes from the kitchens. No guards exchanging easy banter at their posts. Just silence. Heavy. Suffocating. The kind of silence that followed a death.

Or maybe preceded one.

The compound rose from the morning mist like a ...