Don't Ruin It For Her

The great hall was illuminated by flickering torches mounted on stone pillars, their flames casting shifting shadows across the chamber. The long, oak tables, which usually dominated the space, had been pushed aside to create a broad expanse for the gathered warriors.

The Northern warriors stood in stark contrast to the warriors of the Damned, their ranks visibly divided by centuries of mistrust. At the far end of the hall, a very well-adorned seat similar to that of a throne loomed on a raised dais, a silent emblem of authority and judgment.

Esme stood tall on the dais, her figure framed by the faint glow of the torchlight. Her composure was steady, though her heart beat like a war drum. Where she had found the strength to command this moment, she hardly knew. But one thing burned clear in her mind; this had to be done, and she would see it through.