The departure of the Watcher left the room in a state of strained silence, the tension lingering in the air like an oppressive fog. Arawn remained seated, his thoughts a chaotic whirlpool of fear, doubt, and a dawning sense of responsibility. The gravity of the Watcher's words weighed heavily on him. He felt small and powerless, a mere pawn in a game played by forces far beyond his understanding.
The grandeur of the Empire's capital, with its towering spires and bustling streets, had initially filled Arawn with awe. Now, as he stood on the precipice of a battle that threatened not just the Empire but the entire realm, the awe transformed into a deep-seated anxiety. He was painfully aware of his inadequacies. The Watchers, the emperor, and the kings all possessed a depth of power and knowledge that he lacked. Arawn was no warrior or seasoned mage; he was a young man thrust into a world of peril and prophecy, with little more than his wits and a handful of basic skills.