Night had fallen once again over Herriond. The city glittered beneath a blanket of darkness, its streets lined with twinkling lights and towering high-rises that reached for the heavens like silent sentinels.
The atmosphere seemed calm, almost serene—an illusion of peace that belied the turmoil quietly unfolding within the walls of Cestine Palace. Even most of the palace staff, going about their nightly duties, remained blissfully unaware of the crisis brewing in its heart.
On the ground floor of the palace, hidden away in the sterile hush of the intensive care unit, the soft rhythmic beeping of monitoring machines filled the air. A faint antiseptic scent lingered as fluorescent lights cast a pale glow across the room.
