The illusion of the modern corporate boardroom shattered the very second the Lead Emissary stood up.
There was no polite clearing of the throat, no aggressive adjusting of a silk tie, and absolutely no pretense of continued terrestrial negotiation. The Northern Sovereign, having been completely, flawlessly cornered by Noir's brilliant legal architecture, abandoned the fragile guise of corporate diplomacy. They resorted to the only currency they truly understood: primordial, unadulterated violence.
The ambient temperature inside the sleek, glass-and-steel boardroom did not simply drop; it plummeted into a state of instant, catastrophic deep-freeze. The harsh, sterile white overhead lights, powered by the ancient magical cores, violently flickered and then exploded in a shower of freezing sparks, plunging the enclosed space into a terrifying, unnatural twilight.
