The sky rumbled as gentle rain traced silver streaks across the storm-darkened heavens.
Each drop was soft, but together they whispered of tension, of a coming downpour—of more than weather.
Kael stood silently before the colossal stone gates of the Duchy of Salvatore, his cloak fluttering faintly in the breeze. Elfie, the snowy dragon, perched on his shoulder. Her small claws dug into his collar lightly as her golden eyes blinked in sleepy confusion.
Behind him stood Barret, Vic, and Chris—all three equally dumbstruck.
The soldiers around was the first to speak, his voice cracking, "Did I just hear that right?"
"You heard it," another one said, his jaw tight. "They've barred the entire Veydrin delegation. Even the Grand Duke."
Chris, visibly agitated, snapped, "This is insane. Salvatore's still under the central alliance. There are rules!"
SLAM!
A spear cracked against the stone wall.
