The night hung heavy over the continent, a shroud of silence that seemed to press down on everything beneath it. In scattered mansions and modest homes across the land, those who had once stood proud now bent their knees to a single name: Ethan Drake. The conquest was complete, the families subdued, and an empire forged from shadow and steel now stretched from coast to coast.
Yet in two separate chambers, miles apart, two men sat alone with their thoughts—wrestling with a truth that no amount of victory could ease.
....
Lysander's chamber felt smaller tonight, though nothing had changed about its dimensions.
The same stone walls, the same heavy wooden furniture, the same maps spread across his desk like the remnants of old dreams.
A single candle flickered near his elbow, casting dancing shadows that seemed to mock the stillness in his heart.
Before him lay the territorial charts marking Ethan's dominion.
