The Shadow of the Crown

The war room of Nightfall Keep was silent, the weight of the queen's announcement hanging in the air like a blade poised to strike. The chamber, vast and foreboding, was lit only by the flickering glow of wall-mounted torches, their dim flames casting restless shadows across the polished obsidian table where the most trusted figures of Tenebrya sat. The air smelled of old parchment, wax, and the faint, ever-present scent of steel.

Silence still ruled the place—a long, stretched pause where the room held its breath, waiting for someone to break the tension. Then, slowly, the reaction had begun in ripples, spreading outward as the weight of the queen's choice settled over them all.