The war had left an indelible mark on Maelor. Seated in his throne room with austere ornaments, the dragon king contemplated the strategic maps spread before him, his gaze lingering on newly conquered territories and those still in resistance. Military reports piled up on a polished obsidian table, each document methodically detailing the advance of his armies and the persistent pockets of resistance.
Marseille was now just a name on a map, a memory of a human city now reduced to smoking rubble. The loss of this strategic city had been a considerable setback, not so much on the military front as on troop morale and the perception of his power. Such a defeat, after years of uninterrupted victories, had given rise to whispers of doubt within his court itself.
