The war council chamber felt smaller than Julius remembered.
Not physically—the vaulted ceiling still arched high overhead, banners still hung in disciplined symmetry, the great continental map still dominated the far wall—but the air felt tighter.
Heavier.
Information had a habit of doing that.
It compressed possibility into inevitability.
Julius stood at the center of the long stone table while the Foreign Minister concluded his report.
Markers had been placed across the map—red for Visigothic forces, blue for the Eastern Coalition, grey for uncertain movements, and now a fresh green line pressing down from the north.
"The Slavic Federation's vanguard crossed the northern passes two weeks ago," the minister said, tapping the map with a slender rod. "Initial resistance was minimal. Visigoth appears to have underestimated their willingness to commit."
"Or overestimated their own deterrence," Julius replied evenly.
A low murmur rippled around the table.
