The grandfather clock in Lord Cassius Drayven's study chimed four times, its deep voice echoing through the pre-dawn silence. Drayven barely glanced up from his correspondence, quill scratching across parchment as he reviewed the latest textile trade agreements. The Sun faction's interests in the southern provinces required careful attention, especially with the Moon faction's recent aggressive expansion.
A shadow moved across his window.
Drayven's hand paused mid-sentence. The shadow had been wrong, too fluid, too purposeful for the swaying oak branches outside. He set down his quill and reached for the ceremonial sword mounted on his wall, fingers closing around the familiar grip.
"Lord Drayven."
The voice came from behind him, impossibly calm and carrying an otherworldly quality that made his skin crawl. Drayven spun, sword clearing its sheath in one smooth motion, but the dark-robed figure standing in his doorway didn't even flinch.
