The Guardian Council chamber was magnificent, cold, and steeped in history. Walls of black marble rose high, adorned with silver etchings depicting epic battles against legendary monsters. The vaulted ceiling soared three stories high, with stained glass windows casting kaleidoscopic light into the silent room.
At the center, nine high-backed ebony chairs with burgundy velvet upholstery formed an imperfect circle. Each chair bore a unique crest representing its owner—a silver arrow for the Saint Archer, a golden-leafed tree for Eldertree, a radiant heart for the Sacred Healer, and so on.
But today, only seven chairs were occupied. Two stood empty.
One vacancy—the chair bearing the black dragon crest that Black Dragon had occupied for two decades. Its owner now lay dead, beheaded by one of his own.
One seat left empty forever, belonging to the former member who had turned his back on them.
