The throne room of Elysium's capital gleamed with crystalline magnificence, every surface polished to perfection.
King Eric sat upon his golden throne, flanked by his three chosen ones, Aurelius with his honey voice, Lyra with her controlled stillness, and Sera whose predatory grin that suggested she was imagining the bloodshed to come.
Before them, a massive magical projection hung in the air like a window into another world.
The image showed Sorne's walls, Marcus Thorne's approaching army, and the organized chaos of defenders preparing for siege.
"Fifteen thousand mercenaries," Aurelius observed, his amber eyes tracking everything that was happening. "Marcus has invested heavily in this gambit. Either he's confident of victory or desperate enough not to care about the cost of failure."
"Desperate men make mistakes," Lyra said quietly, her pale eyes never leaving the projection. "But they also fight without restraint. This will be bloody regardless of the outcome."
