Two months had passed since the rains began, and still, the skies wept without pause.
Now, within the grand stone hall of Nineveh—where sunlight, pale and half-hearted, filtered through towering arched windows—the council of vassals had convened.
The hall echoed with silence and tension. At the high table sat Regent Kelvin Salvatore, his silver-streaked hair slicked back like polished steel, eyes sharp beneath heavy lids. Flanking him were the kingdom's most powerful vassals: Count Alec Lyon, huge and barrel-chested, with a lion's mane of black-curly hair; Count Finn Waters, lean and composed, fingers drumming faintly against his goblet; Viscountess Katarina Dremlen, thin-lipped and robed in somber gray; Viscount Claude Flameheart, cloaked in red and bronze, his eyes smoldering with suppressed ire; City Lord Aquila, calm and beautiful ; and Lord Commander Adam, dressed in blackened plate, his gauntleted hands entwined on the rectangular table.
