In the quiet vastness of the royal chamber, the soft golden light of the chandeliers reflected off polished marble and tapestries bearing Valerion's crest. The King sat upon his high-backed chair, his face shadowed with fatigue and concern. Queen Isabella stood beside him, her expression composed but her eyes heavy with worry. Nyx, still clad in the travel-worn garments of their long journey, stood before them with her hands clasped behind her back. The weight of everything she had seen and endured seemed to press on her shoulders.
The chamber was silent except for the faint crackle of the hearth. Nyx drew in a breath, steadying herself before she spoke.
"Father, Mother," she began, her voice low but unwavering, "Lechia has fallen."
King Alden's brows drew together instantly. "Fallen?" he repeated, his tone grim and disbelieving. "You mean to say the usurpers have taken Lechia?"
