In the polished marble halls of Virethall, seat of House Delenir, candlelight flickered like whispers on silk. The heads of four great magi houses gathered in secret.
Though House Ignarion's banners still flew high above the Central Tower of Arcalen, its grip on the magocracy had begun to crack.
Not with the sound of shattering glass, but with the creak of strained alliances and bruised pride.
Lord Halmere of House Delenir stirred his tea with absent fingers, watching the steam coil like a scrying mist.
"They've overreached," he said coolly. "Veltharion believes his line is blessed. But the world is tiring of dragons, real or conjured."
Lady Rhianna of House Velendrel folded her hands on the lacquered table. Her robes shimmered in subtle enchantments, glamours woven from glass-thread and confidence.
