Meanwhile.
In the Dwarven Capital City — Royal Palace
The heavy air inside the palace chamber was thick with incense and worry. Outside the royal chamber, several priests stood in silent rows — robes of gold, green, and silver marking their origin. Some were from the Human Kingdom. Others from the Elven tribes. A few bore the rare sigils of faraway mountain temples.
Inside the room, the Dwarven Chieftain sat beside the large stone-framed bed, his thick fingers clenched tightly around his daughter's pale hand. She lay there motionless, her breathing shallow, her skin marked faintly by ominous curse veins glowing beneath the surface.
He gritted his teeth, his eyes red and wet — but no tears fell.
The girl who once ran the palace halls with joy now looked like a sleeping shadow of herself.
Behind him, a high priest bowed his head.
"We're sorry, Chieftain. Our combined purify and cleanse rituals can only hold the curse at bay. It slows... but it does not leave."
