The heavy doors of the Chamber of Council groaned open, and Alaric stepped inside. His cloak, dusted with the road's pale grit, trailed softly over the polished stone floor.
After talking to Agilus, he went directly to the Chamber of Council. Lara followed in silence, her eyes taking in every inch of the room — the soaring vaulted ceiling, the banners of the Four Kingdoms hanging like faded ghosts of history, and the sprawling map that dominated the eastern wall, lit by a shaft of afternoon light, seeping through the high window.
King Heimdal turned first. His once-black hair had turned silver at the temples, but his gaze still carried the sharpness of command. Prince Dakota stood beside him — older, back hunched, his face marked with wrinkles that bore the wisdom of old.
"Your Majesty. Your Grace," Alaric said, bowing with the disciplined grace of a soldier who had not forgotten the weight of protocol, though his tone held neither submission nor pride — only purpose.
