A wide chamber glows dimly under the soft light of crystal lamps. Maps and scrolls litter the obsidian table at its center, their inked lines showing the empire's domains and the scattered forces that once swore loyalty to it.
Alix sits at the head of the table, his posture relaxed but his presence pressing down on the room like a weight. The dark aura that clings faintly to him makes even silence feel alive. Across from him, Gander leans forward, his hand resting on the edge of the table, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Your Majesty," Gander begins, voice low but firm, "your plan works. The flames of surrender spread faster than fear itself. Five forces have already contacted us through secret messengers. Each of them has offered to bend the knee in exchange for their survival."
Alix's gaze doesn't shift from the map. He taps one finger against the symbol of a fortress marked in the southern frontier. "Which ones?"
