The grand chamber glowed with an aura of power. Velvet curtains swayed gently in the evening breeze, golden chandeliers burned with soft white light, and polished marble reflected the solemn presence of the man at its center.
Dimitrius Ardent sat behind a carved obsidian desk, his posture regal, his golden hair shining faintly under the glow. Scrolls and documents lay neatly stacked, and the faint hum of a magical screen flickered before him. His eyes—sharp, unyielding—traced lines of strategy reports with the calm patience of a ruler burdened by decisions that shaped nations.
The double doors opened.
A woman entered—beautiful, elegant, her white-golden hair cascading like moonlit silk. She did not rush, but walked with an innate grace that commanded attention. Isolde Ardent, his wife, and the matriarch of the Ardent line, glided across the chamber and seated herself opposite him.
"Dimitrius."
