The grand hall of House Bersa echoed with whispers and sombre expressions, as the noble families gathered in a tense assembly.
Dressed in resplendent robes of deep emerald and gold, the nobles cast worried glances at one another, their faces etched with lines of concern. Shadows danced on the walls, mirroring the chaos that had befallen the empire.
At the head of the table, Lord Alistair Bersa, the patriarch of the house, stood tall with a commanding presence. His salt-and-pepper hair hinted at the wisdom and experience he possessed, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the room, seeking support and unity amidst the turmoil.
"My esteemed allies," Lord Bersa began, his voice carrying a tone of urgency and determination.
"We find ourselves amid a crisis unlike any we have faced before. The royal family has vanished, leaving our beloved empire in disarray. The streets have become battlegrounds, and our people are tearing each other apart."