In one of the lounges in the Main Palaceir was eerie silence, broken only by the soft creaks of its ancient timber beams and the gentle whisper of wind slipping through narrow glass slits.
Dark stone walls, laced with faint silver veins, soared to a ceiling arched like an upside-down ship's hull.
In this hallowed space, five figures gathered, each carrying the weight of their lineage.
At the head of a low table sat Julian, his hands flat against its polished surface, fingers interlaced as if holding onto something fragile.
His eyes were heavy with years of unspoken burdens.
Flanking him were Nathaniel and Richard, Nathaniel leaning back with a calm demeanor while Richard leaned forward, knuckles white from tension.
Opposite Julian sat Margaret, her posture straight and voice poised to bring order amidst chaos.
In the far corner, Emily remained quiet as snowfall yet held an intensity in her gaze that spoke volumes.
