The Royal Palace of Ironforge was usually a place of deafening industry, the beating heart of a city made of gears. But tonight, the corridors were silent.
The Red Knights, the King's personal guard, lined the hallways like statues of blood-colored steel.
They stood perfectly still, their mana-halberds humming with lethal potential. They weren't guarding against an external threat; they were guarding a secret.
In the deepest, most secure chamber of the palace, the King's private study, the air was thick with tension.
Damien stood in the center of the room. He had removed his cloak and mask, revealing his silver hair and exhausted, pale face.
Behind him stood his team: Isabelle, Leona, and Lyra. They were battered, bruised, and on edge, their hands hovering near their weapons.
Hephaestus paced nervously by the fireplace, his grease-stained hands fidgeting with a wrench.
Grandmaster Brokk and Alfred stood by the door, silent sentinels.
