A cascade of lights streaked across the sky and exploded as they collided with the magical barrier protecting the capital. The shield at the atmosphere above groaned, cracks spreading across its once-impenetrable surface.
I thought those were fireworks or flares at first. But as the luminescence gave way to deafening booms, realization struck like a dagger to my chest. Those weren't celebratory sparks, but missiles.
Wait. But how? The story of Twilight's Chronicle occurred in the medieval era when something like missiles shouldn't exist.
Then, a thunderous explosion rippled through the air from the palace ballroom, shaking the stone walls. The revelers were plunged into chaos, and the joyous melodies of the orchestra dissolved into the guests' terrified screams.
"What on earth is happening?!" I cried out, my voice trembling.
