Soren returned to the war room in a mood that could only be described as aggressively pleasant.
Not walking. Floating. Or at least giving the impression of someone whose feet barely touched the ground. Utterly pleased with himself in ways that made grown men uncomfortable.
The war room itself was less formal than the title suggested. Large space with a table covered in maps and reports. Comfortable enough for long discussions. Warm enough that winter's bite stayed outside where it belonged.
Ryse sat at the head reviewing supply manifests. Jorel lounged nearby sharpening a blade that probably didn't need sharpening. Lord Davrin occupied a chair by the hearth nursing wine that looked expensive. Several junior officers hovered at the edges handling various administrative tasks.
All of them looked up when Soren entered.
Noticed immediately that something had shifted.
He was smiling.
