The skies rolled with swirls of dark grey as though a violent storm was approaching. The wind bellowed, strong as a hurricane's, plucking leaves and petals from their bind. Something was approaching. An unsettling feeling sank in Moulin's gut as he ran, hurried to the joint of hallways where servants and knights scrambled. There is chaos in their movements. The former searched for the safety vaults while the latter rode through the corridors and hallways to join their fellow warriors. The horns continuously sounded, nudging Moulin to the edge, of confusion, holding his little beast. What is happening?
Moulin swiftly turned to his left, where his eyes met with the sight of his comrades, armed, wearing heavy expressions. Jagra was the first to see him and hurriedly beckoned him. The youth did not waste any time and approached them with quick steps.
"What's wrong?" Moulin asked, internally anticipating.
