PASSING THE BLOODLINES

Alaric stood like a stone before the council, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the marble floor. His dark cloak, scorched at the edges from his earlier path of destruction, hung heavily across his shoulders. His silver eyes flicked from face to face, watching the council members fidget under his gaze.

His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles turned white with suppressed rage.

"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, a cold smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

The council chamber had once been a place of grandeur — vaulted ceilings painted with scenes of hunters triumphing over beasts, polished floors, and glittering chandeliers. Now, it looked like the den of frightened prey.

"King of predators, they call me," Alaric thought, his mouth curling into a bitter grin. "Yet here I am, pleading with mice."