Inside the private council chamber of Elysia, the atmosphere was thick—not with celebration or ceremony, but with the cold weight of impending consequence.
The chamber, a domed sanctum carved from pale moonstone and veined with gold-etched runes, was typically reserved for diplomatic rituals and highborn ceremonies. But today, it held tension instead of tradition.
Golden sunlight streamed through the enchanted glass windows above, casting shifting patterns of celestial light onto a long, crescent-shaped obsidian table. Around it sat six figures, each cloaked in regal robes stitched with ancient sigils and woven mana-thread—symbols of the Great Houses of Elysia.
Their faces were composed, but their eyes were sharp. Watching. Measuring.
At the center, seated at the head of the crescent, was Nolan Valthorne, Lord Chancellor of House Valthorne, and the man often whispered about as the quiet architect of Elysia's foreign influence. A tactician as much as a noble.
