Leaning against the windowsill, Lancelot looked at the endless ocean before him.
The headquarters of the Round Hall stood proudly on an island, surrounded by deep waters and layers of security and traps.
Lancelot had always preferred the serenity of mountains—their quiet strength, the way they stood unmoving against storms. But even he had to admit, this ocean view wasn't too bad.
"Someone seems to be brooding," came a playful feminine voice from the left.
Lancelot scoffed softly. "Need something?" he asked, not bothering to turn his head. He already knew who it was.
"Yes, your report," another voice followed, deeper and more commanding.
Lancelot's brow furrowed. He finally turned, his tone shifting slightly. "Arthur? Why are you here?"
Standing near the door was a dark-skinned man with silver hair and a calm, powerful aura. His presence alone carried weight.
