The grand hall stretched wide and austere, its walls lined with banners of crimson and steel, its floor polished to a cold, reflective sheen. At the far end, on the obsidian throne, sat Nwadiebube.
His posture was regal, but his expression was sharp with irritation. One hand rested lazily on the throne's armrest, but his fingers tapped against it in a slow, deliberate rhythm, a drumbeat of his mood.
The envoys entered with practiced grace. As they stepped forward, they began the motion of a bow, but Nwadiebube raised his hand.
"Stop."
The word rang across the hall like a commandment. The envoys froze mid-motion, the silence heavy enough to suffocate.
With a bored expression and a tone that cut like iron, Nwadiebube's gaze slid past the human envoys and fell squarely upon the five monsters wearing human skins.
