Some time later.
Simharia's throne room no longer held the calm grace it had just minutes ago.
Messengers raced down the hallways, their boots slamming into polished stone as they carried messages to and from the noble houses.
Magic-infused crystals pulsed with light atop the communication pedestals placed throughout the royal wing, each a direct link to distant commanders and vassals.
Artifacts sparked with ethereal runes as nobles spoke urgently into them, summoning bannermen, deploying scouts, and recalling even the most remote battalions.
The air vibrated with hurried strategy and sharpened resolve.
The banners of Simharia, still gleaming in the filtered sunlight, no longer swayed in celebration; they loomed as symbols of impending war.
Throughout the kingdom, couriers flew on spirit beasts, scrolls bound to their sides, carrying Zahara's command: Prepare for war.
The Queen had called for her forces, and everyone was now hearing about it.
