The royal hall stretched up, sunlight pouring through stained windows that colored the waxed floors in soft shades of gold and red. The warmth hung there, though overlaid with a wafting aroma of incense and wood wax. Despite the ominous danger beyond the city's walls, the council had convened informally; the leaders were relaxed with each other, their fellowship evident in gentle laughter and joking glances.
At the table's head was Azrak's demonic brother, the royal one, tall and imposing even when at rest. His red eyes scanned the room, watching, judging—but his voice was smooth, almost chatty. "Dispatches report the monster waves continue unchecked," he stated. "We should prepare, but hysteria is not necessary. Introductions, let us start with those."
The five captains of the capital knight divisions leaned back in their chairs, buffing blades or tightening armor straps. There was Sir Rolan, broad-shouldered and loud-laughing and with a legend of mad bravery; Lady Mira, sharp-eyed and trim, known for tactical genius; Captain Thorne, young and deadly, usually quiet but always thinking; Ser Darin, rowdy and roguish, soldiers' favorite; and Knight Commander Veyl, grim and seasoned, leading the council with quiet competence.
Across the table, three Elide Force captains—tall, lean elves—nodded courteously, their banter in lilting elvish accents. Sylvara, calm and authoritative; Lirion, playful but accurate; and Teyra, disciplined and methodical, observing every detail silently.
Dwarven clan chiefs, Grumli and Korrak, sat heavily, palms held across the table, eyes keen, their energy radiating power and authority. Between them, new demon soldiers stood along the walls, newly elevated, antsy but controlled, with the first glimmer of remarkable talent.
At the opposite end of the hallway, five Beastmen tribal warlords stood leisurely, each representative of their corresponding tribe: Raugor of the Lion Tribe, fierce and proud; Shivara of the White Tiger Tribe, silent and agile; Fenris of the Wolf Tribe, loyal and calculating; Korra of the Fox Tribe, cunning and sly; and Sserak of the Serpent Tribe, sinuous in motion and mysterious in attitude. They traded pointed but respectful glances with the human and elven commanders, speaking of alliances born of necessity and respect.
The atmosphere in the room was unexpectedly relaxed. Laughter rang out lightly as Sir Rolan playfully teased Sylvara for overthinking every battle strategy. Lady Mira rolled her eyes at Darin's mischievousness, while Azrak's brother smiled knowingly, watching the exchange. Even the Beastmen leaders had quiet wit and banter, revealing personality beneath their fearsome appearance.
After introductions, the mood changed slightly. A big map was spread across the table, marked with symbols of ravaged cities and monster routes.
Azrak's brother addressed them, tone smooth but weighted with gravity. "The waves of monsters ravaged the surrounding territories. Seventeen cities reduced to ash, 23,845 villagers slaughtered, and more than 1,500 valiant knights died fighting for their homesteads. These numbers exclude reported missing or taken survivors.
Eyes widened around the room. Even the seasoned leaders were somber. The young demon soldiers straightened, absorbing the scale of the threat.
"The upcoming wave is formidable," he continued. "2,647 A-rank, 6,524 B-rank, and 54 S-rank monsters are moving toward our borders. All units—human, elf, dwarf, demon, and Beastmen—must coordinate. Failure is not an option."
The easy laughter and jocular remarks dissipated, and strained silence crept in. All leaders, human, elf, dwarf, demon, and Beastman alike, realized the seriousness of the days to come. The peace before the storm had passed; the specter of devastation hung now above the capital.
Kael's jaw clenched as he gazed at Azrak. The red eyes reflected the gravity of the report. The storm was merely a start.