The city of Shantel was restless. Word of the great tyrant's fall had spread like wildfire. While Leon was deep in the forest, busy carving his own path, the city lord of Shantel was busy as well, assembling a group of warriors to uncover the truth behind the forest's new ruler.
Inside a grand hall, torches burned low against stone walls, throwing long shadows across the chamber. At the center stood the city lord, draped in a dark mantle embroidered with silver threads, his stern face betraying nothing. Before him knelt five figures: four warriors, each hardened by years of quiet service, and one mage whose cloak shimmered faintly with threads of mana.
