Meanwhile, far away in Eldermoor, the Kingdom of Elves, in his pristine castle, King Galadrien sat on his throne, his posture relaxed, his expression graceful as always, even though he was greatly stressed.
"The two B-Rank Gate Worlds have been successfully sealed, Your Majesty," an armored general reported, bowing deeply. "Casualties were minimal. Portal Mages have been summoned for a Gate Transfer."
"Excellent work, General," Galadrien said, his voice a soft, melodic baritone that put everyone in the room at ease. "Ensure the families of the wounded are compensated from the Crown's treasury."
One of his nobles turned to him. "This is truly worrying. More Gates daring to open this close to the King's castle. Are the gods trying to tell us something?"
Galadrien didn't know what to say. But he didn't have to. The marble doors swung open and a royal Messenger, chest heaving and uniform dusty from a frantic ride, dropped to one knee.
