Duke Vernhardt sat behind his desk with a guest who occupied the chair opposite him.
The Hooded Figure did not sit like a man of flesh and bone. He sat with a terrifying, absolute stillness, his cloak absorbing the candlelight as if it were a black hole. The deep cowl obscured his face, leaving only the faint, jagged outline of a chin and the occasional, rhythmic glint of something silver nestled in the palm of his gloved hand.
"It was successful," the figure whispered. His voice was not a voice at all, but a dry rasp that sounded like dead leaves skittering across a grave. "The beasts have tasted it. They are now the extensions of my will."
The Duke let out a slow, satisfied exhale. He looked younger in the dim light, the exhaustion that had plagued him since the Crown's seizure of the mines replaced by a fierce, restless energy. "And the Wolf? My scouts at the palace gates reported a massive surge of mana from the Aldenar estate. Teleportation."
