A few days later, in the capital city of Lumisera.
The council chamber, located in the western wing of the royal palace, stood solemn beneath its towering dome, whose curved arches resembled a captured sunburst. Today, it was more crowded than usual. At the center stood a long table carved from dark olive wood, set beneath the heart of the dome. Ten chairs formed a crescent around it—nine for the greatest powers of the Empire, and one, placed highest, reserved for the sovereign.
Seven of the seats had already been filled. Shafts of light streamed through stained-glass windows, casting a quiet glow on the noble crests glinting in silver and gold.
"It's been a while, Lord Gareth. I trust you've been well?"
The voice came from the left—Alecsandro Drazel, Marquess of the northeastern territories and current head of House Drazel. His forehead gleamed faintly under the light, and his gaze was sharp, calculating.
"Greetings, Marquess. By Luxaris' blessing, I remain well,"
