As Zarathos, still masquerading as Dayan, prepared for his journey to the Shadowrealm, the palace bustled with activity. Servants scurried to and fro, gathering supplies and making preparations for the king's departure. Zarathos, his true intentions hidden beneath a facade of regal authority, moved with purpose, his mind already focused on the task at hand.
But as he made his way through the palace halls, a summons came from the council chambers. The council, comprised of the most influential and powerful figures in the kingdom, had requested his presence. They had grown restless, their murmurs of discontent echoing through the corridors like a distant thunderstorm.
Zarathos entered the council chambers, his expression carefully neutral. The council members, their faces a mixture of deference and apprehension, watched him closely as he took his seat at the head of the table.