A deep silence fell over the Great Hall as the halves of the ancestral horns clattered to the ground, each piece rolling briefly on the ground as the iridescent light that once illuminated it seemed to bleed into the air before fading away like fog on the wind leaving the severed horns cold and lifeless. The sound of Nyrielle's ax passing through the horns, a high pitched -CRACK- like elegant crystal shattering on stone, continued to ring in everyone's ears long after the severed horns rolled to a stop.
In her chair, Old Svenja trembled visibly and her stoop-shouldered frame seemed to shrink further as she watched darkness ripple across the horns, devouring what little light they had left and rendering them as lifeless as the stones of the mountain.
