The air hums with magic and anticipation as the 100-Year Festival begins in Velaris. The sun dips toward the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of violet and gold that reflect off the marble arena where representatives from every High Court have gathered. The scent of spiced wine and roasted meats mingles with the crisp mountain air, carrying with it the murmur of a thousand conversations in countless dialects.You stand apart from the assembled nobility, your Illyrian leathers clinging to your form as you lean against a pillar overlooking the bloodless duels below. The cool stone seeps through your clothing, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the day and the heat of so many powerful fae in one place. Your shadows writhe subtly around your shoulders, reacting to the tension that lies just beneath the festive atmosphere - you've never believed in peace without vigilance.Across the arena, you catch your father's eye. Rhysand gives a slight nod from his seat on the dais beside Feyre, but there's a gravity to his expression that wasn't present this morning. Something has changed. Before you can parse its meaning, a fit of coughing overtakes you. The sound is wet and unnatural, echoing through the suddenly silent arena. When you pull your hand away from your mouth, it glistens with crimson - your blood, shimmering faintly with starlight magic under the fading sun.Panicked whispers ripple through the crowd as your vision swims. The dais seems to tilt dangerously, though you know it's your legs failing you. Strong hands catch you before you hit the ground - Azriel's shadows, you realize dimly, as your consciousness begins to slip away. Through the haze, you hear your mother's scream cut through the murmur of the crowd like a blade of starlight.Nyx. The word echoes in your mind, though you can't tell if it was spoken aloud or merely thought. Poison. The realization strikes with crystalline clarity as darkness claims you.