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Kianda

The climb up the ladder did not last long. Kianda felt a draft of warm air curling around her, and then she was pulling herself up into a pitch black room where the strange music reverberated off the walls.

Over the music, a deep, slightly familiar voice growled, “By all four Dragons and eighteen Winds, not this again.”

“Goya?” she ventured hesitantly.

He was prevented from replying by the bang of a door flying open and the thump of something falling to the ground.

“Oof.” The newcomer gasped for air.

With a sigh, Kianda unslung her glaive, lighting it up from tip to tip and illuminating the space.

The music stopped abruptly. “Really, Kianda,” a cross voice said. “We aren’t all here yet.” A very beautiful woman sitting behind an elaborate harp glared across the otherwise empty room.

“Who might you be?” Goya demanded, sounding resigned.

“The entrance to the Castle,” the woman replied haughtily.

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