Saleos led me through a side passage cut directly into the obsidian wall of the hall. The sound of the celebration dulled almost immediately, the heavy doors sealing behind us with a low, resonant thrum.
The room beyond was smaller, but no less deliberate.
A long stone table occupied the center, its surface polished smooth, set with plates of still-steaming food and vessels carved from glass. The heat here was controlled, contained, meant for conversation rather than spectacle.
All four generals were already present.
Kharzun stood at the head of the table, arms resting loosely at his sides. The other three occupied positions around it, their auras muted. Saleos moved to my left, and gestured toward an open seat.
"Please," Kharzun said. "Sit."
I did.
For a few moments, no one spoke. The pause wasn't awkward. It was respectful, the kind of silence that allowed everyone to measure the weight of the room before filling it.
Kharzun was the first to break it.
