The council chamber carried silence a while, its walls lined with ancient banners of Valeria's past wars—some faded, some crimson with preserved dyes that looked too much like blood.
At the long table sat Emperor Xavier, and to his right, Prince Aric, calm as stone, but with eyes sharp enough to cut through the dim candlelight.
On the opposite side stood the Northrenders, their furs and steel armor seeming almost barbaric against the polished marble of the chamber.
Commander Yrsa, tall and severe, her violet cloak draped across one shoulder, silver embroidery catching the light whenever she shifted.
Behind her stood her retinue—silent as statues, their eyes ever watchful.
Xavier's council—Generals Valmir and Karsen, Minister Helbrecht, and the High Chancellor—all sat in an ordered row, like wolves pretending civility before a hunt.
Aric spoke first, his tone as casual as it usually was.
