The scent of roasted meat still lingered in the air long after the servants had stepped back. The clinking of silverware faded, leaving only the low murmur of voices and the faint hiss of candles burning low.
Lord Merith leaned back in his chair, hands clasped loosely before him. His gaze never wavered from Apnoch, who sat to his left, his armor polished for the first time in days. Damien sat opposite them, silent as ever, eyes half-lidded but alert.
"So," Merith said at last, voice smooth and deliberate. "You're telling me that Delwig—a fortress city that has withstood sieges for centuries—was destroyed in a single night?"
Apnoch exhaled slowly. "It wasn't a siege, my lord. It was a slaughter. Something broke loose… something none of us were prepared for."
Merith's expression tightened. "I've heard whispers—rumors of a rift, of magic gone wild. But I didn't believe them."
