The great hall of Lycanthria was alive with the murmur of council members. The afternoon sunlight streamed through tall windows, glinting off the polished marble floor. The scent of roasted meat and spiced wine from the feast the night before still lingered faintly in the air. The king's brow was heavy as he sat upon his throne, and Aveloria, seated beside him, could feel the strain tightening the room.
Theron stood before the gathered council, a broad figure in armor, his posture unbending. Behind him, five of his men stood in disciplined silence, their expressions stoic. The day before, he'd arrived unannounced with fifty warriors, claiming it was for unity and allegiance's sake. But the unspoken truth was that his presence demanded attention.
