Savadra, The Castle of the Grand Duke of Arches.
"You summoned us, Grandfather?" asked Connor Arces, as he dipped into a respectful bow before the regal figure seated on the high-backed couch. The old man, now in his eightieth year, bore the weight of time—his back slightly bent, his once-broad shoulders diminished—but his presence still crackled with the quiet authority of a noble who had once commanded armies and nations. His hair, now a crown of pure white, lent him the dignity of a weathered wolf.
Beside Connor, Linnea and young Sandoz followed suit with deep, reverent bows.
"A good day to you, Grandfather," Linnea said gently.
"Good day, Great-Grandfather!" Sandoz beamed, his voice ringing with childlike brightness. Though his tone still held the innocence of childhood, he has grown taller. He radiated health and energy, like a flame just catching strength.
